Harry Potter and the Inferi Complex
by Nate Grey
Summary: When Ariana Dumbledore was nine, a man in white saved her from herself. He was an Astute, and that is what they do. Years later, Ariana is an Astute. A decade with the Dursleys has awakened Harry Potter as an Obscurial, and the wizarding world can never know that the Boy Who Lived is now the Boy Who Brings Death. If only that were all that Harry is now capable of.
1. Rain and Ruin

Notes: Sometimes I get a story idea stuck in my head, and I cannot focus on anything else until I write it down. Presently, I have two such ideas: a story where Hermione gets visited by three separate daughters from alternate timelines, and this. For some reason, this story has taken priority over "Hermione J and the Wedding Day", so here we are. I should mention that this is set in a slightly alternate universe, although I hope that would be obvious fairly quickly.

Summary: When Ariana Dumbledore was nine, a man in white saved her from herself. He was an Astute, and that is what they do. Years later, Ariana is an Astute. A decade with the Dursleys has awakened Harry Potter as an Obscurial, and the wizarding world can never know that the Boy Who Lived is now the Boy Who Brings Death. If only that were all that Harry is now capable of.

* * *

Harry Potter and the Inferi Complex

A Fantastic Beasts/Harry Potter Crossover by

Nate Grey (xman0123-at-aol-dot-com)  
Chapter 1: Rain and Ruin

* * *

 _from **The New Astute's Handbook, by Opan Dor**_

 _The Astute's Duties_

 _Every Astute has two primary duties. The first is to master their considerable powers, so that they will not accidentally harm themselves, those around them, or the world at large. The second is to seek out, confront, and deal with Obscurials._

 _Both are tremendous, highly dangerous, potentially fatal tasks. Both are worthwhile. Both must be carried out, for the good of our continued existence._

 _No one else is even close to being qualified. No one else has the proper amount or type of power. No one else has the personal responsibility._

 _You, my young Astute, no doubt have relevant questions. Why must it be you? Why not someone else?_

 _I will tell you. Because we both once stood, where every Obscurial stands. An existence, forged in darkness and tempered with pain, loneliness, and fear. A person who has so far only known a world that will not, cannot possibly accept them as they are. They will never belong. They will never be safe. They will never survive long enough to make a difference._

 _Not without us. Not without you._

 _By the time you read this, I will no longer be with you. I wish for you to know why. I heard the tortured cries of a young girl, and I could not turn my back on her. It cost me what remained of my life. But when she looked into my eyes, finally freed of her personal demons, and smiled, I knew then. It was worth it._

 _It is always worth it._

 _My young Astute, I ask one thing of you, no matter what path you pursue. Always remember that you stand where you stand now, because another offered their hand to you. Always remember that someone thought enough of you to save you. That hand, offered with no sense of self-preservation, intending only to rescue, can change the world. It did for me. It did for that girl. And it did for you. Just imagine, for but a moment, what that hand can do, when it is yours._

* * *

 **THEN**

It was raining heavily that day.

It didn't matter.

Though he was wet, cold, and shivering, Credence Barebone kept his complaints to himself, and continued to offer the pamphlets in his hand to the few people who slowed down enough to take even a passing interest in him. Most of those tossed the pamphlets into a conveniently located garbage can as soon as they got a few feet away. He had learned to position himself near those. A police officer had once accused Credence of littering, since obviously the pamphlets he was holding matched the ones scattered on the ground. Credence had been too nervous to defend himself adequately. If his youngest sister Modesty had not shown up in time to kick the officer in the shin, grab Credence's hand, and run away with him, he was not sure what would have happened.

Thankfully, their sister Chastity had gone back and explained things. She was usually the one that had to deal with the authorities. She was talkative, but not quite so heavy-handed, in every sense of the word, as their mother. Once, she had even rescued Credence from a police precinct, where they were giving him stern looks and considering putting him in a cell until his mother could pick him up. When he apologized to Chastity for troubling her, she gave him a sort of sad look, just shook her head, and said, "Oh, Credence," in that specific way of hers. He wanted very much to believe that she was fond of him, but it was sometimes difficult to be sure.

Modesty was much easier to understand. She would grab his hand whenever either of them was upset or lonely, but rarely ever when she was happy. Then, she would just give him a brief, big grin. He wished she would do it more often, but he understood why she didn't.

His sisters weren't with him now, though, and Credence was glad of it. The weather couldn't possibly be good for any of them. He had only volunteered because his mother had been giving him one of her looks, and last night's beating had been particularly light... which meant she had more than enough strength saved up for a major one tonight, if needed. He wished to do nothing that might earn that beating, even if that in itself was no guarantee. Best not to tempt fate. So long as he returned home on time with no pamphlets, and they could not easily be found on the ground, he might be safe. He doubted even his mother would venture out in the pouring rain, just to look for discarded pamphlets. But once the weather let up, that was a different story.

Credence was not sure how long he stood there, trying to hand out pamphlets in the rain, before a voice like the tinkling of wind chimes spoke to him.

"May I have one of your pamphlets, please?" it asked.

Despite the dull roar of the rain, Credence heard the voice quite clearly, as if the speaker was directly next to his ear. And yet, when he turned to face them, they were still a few feet away.

It was a young woman, surely near his own age, but completely unlike any that Credence had ever seen before. She was wearing a heavy, white robe, notable both because he had never seen one like it outside of a church, and because it was totally, enviously dry. Her blonde hair was tied into a long, intricate plait that reached her waist. Her skin was noticeably pale, but pleasantly so, where Credence found his own paleness to be due more to a strict diet and general unease to... well, life in general. Her lips were small, pink, and pleasant to look at.

But it was her eyes that drew his attention the most. They were the grey of new storm clouds.

Credence could not even begin to think of what to say to a woman so beautiful, and felt guilty just looking at her. So he wordlessly handed over a pamphlet, with a hand that suddenly felt heavy, clumsy, and far too brutish to be anywhere near her perfection. And he kept his fingers close to the nearest edge of the pamphlet, so that she would not have to touch him.

Strange, then, that she insisted on grasping his wrist and drawing it toward her, taking the pamphlet with her free hand. She did not read it immediately, but instead stared at his forearm for several seconds, before finally releasing him. Then she raised the pamphlet to her face and began to read the cover.

There were only ever so many reactions to the pamphlets, and given the weather, Credence felt certain what hers would be. But he was wrong.

"Do you actually believe in this?" she asked, raising her gaze to his face. It was spoken, not with doubt or accusation, but genuine curiosity. As if she actually cared what he thought.

Credence was not prepared for this, and could not come up with a response. And in any case, the truth was that he didn't believe in his mother's anti-magic propaganda. He would never say so in front of anyone, though, and especially not a stranger willing to listen to him. If his mother ever found out, she would never forgive him. Not that she ever really seemed to, now that he thought about it.

When it was obvious that there was no reply coming, the young woman smiled. "You don't have to be so nervous, you know. I won't bite, unless you ask me to." She followed this with a wink that made Credence feel certain that this conversation should have been happening to virtually anyone but him.

"Y-You're not getting wet," Credence suddenly blurted out. This seemed like a safer topic, as they were both standing in the rain, and yet only one of them was getting wet, and it wasn't her.

Her smile widened. "I think you mean to ask, how is it that I'm not getting wet?"

He nodded.

"I can tell you one thing for sure." She pointed to the pamphlet. "I didn't learn it by reading things like this."

Credence opened his mouth, planning to explain to her why his mother's beliefs were so important. But the words stuck in his throat, and he was only able to produce a sound that came out as, "Fuh."

"I suppose I'll have to guess what you want to say," she said, grinning. "And I think you want to show me where you live."

This was not what Credence wanted at all. And yet it was immediately clear that that was exactly what was going to happen, on account of Credence having no better ideas. And even if he had, he would have dismissed them instantly on her say-so.

This was not the sort of woman that people refused, he decided. Terrified as he was at the thought of his mother's reaction to his bringing this strange woman home, suddenly he could picture something far, far worse.

The woman might stop smiling at him.

* * *

 **NOW**

He was jarred awake by a loud impact on the outside of the door.

"Dinner!" Petunia Dursley's voice shrieked, giving the door another kick for good measure.

Harry Potter sat up and quickly put on his glasses. After a few seconds, he heard the padlock rattling, and then the door creaked open. Taking a deep breath and mentally preparing himself for what was coming, the boy emerged into the light.

He regretted it instantly.

Petunia was staring at him with obvious disgust. He found this unfair: she provided all of his clothes, food, and virtually everything he could have used to alter his appearance. If she didn't like how he looked, she had far more power to change that than he did.

"Well, come on!" Petunia snapped, before she turned on her heel and marched into the kitchen.

Harry followed at a distance. The table was already set, the food already prepared. They didn't trust him to do either, and they were right not to. Harry was not sure he would have been able to resist the temptation to spit in Dudley's food. The odds that Dudley actually tasted much of it as he shoveled it into his face were slim to none.

Harry did not have a chair to sit in. He had a rickety stool that leaned to one side, and was far too short for the table. Even sitting on it for the length of a standard meal would have been uncomfortable at best.

Convenient, then, that Harry's meals were below standard. Today's meal: a glass of water, half an apple, and a slice of bread. The apple wasn't halved because it had been cut. It was halved because someone, likely Dudley, had taken an enormous bite out of it.

Harry knew better than to complain, as this was always a possible consequence of being the last one called to eat.

Vernon and Dudley were already eating, and Petunia soon joined them. No one said anything to Harry. It was best that way.

Harry sat down, and started to pick up his bread. Dudley hadn't touched it. Dudley had no interest in a single slice of bread, unless it was paired with another and served as part of an enormous sandwich.

"Boy!" Vernon shouted abruptly, making Harry freeze. "You come to dinner looking like that?!"

Harry stared at him. The same reasoning from before applied, more so in this case, since Vernon left providing for Harry solely up to Petunia, and had no interest in it, beyond how much it was costing him. The answer: far less than it cost to provide Dudley, who, beyond not wearing standard size for his age in anything, was quite greedy and could only be satisfied by being spoiled rotten. Harry had done the math several times, and could state for certain that keeping Dudley happy cost more than it would to keep three Harrys rather unhappy.

When Harry offered no response, Vernon just grunted and went back to his dinner.

Harry actually got to pick up his bread slice before being interrupted again.

"Didn't even wash your hands," Petunia sniffed. "Filthy freak."

Again, unfair: Harry lived, if it could be called that, in a confined space regularly occupied by spiders and dust. Even if he did bother to wash up first, in that short time, Dudley would have either eaten or stolen his food. Harry knew this from experience, but accusing Dudley of anything was pointless, and would only get him worse treatment from all three.

Harry took a bite of his bread.

Vernon's meaty fist pounded the table. "Boy! Are you bleeding on my table?!"

Harry looked at his elbow. He'd lost the bandage somewhere, so he was, in fact, bleeding. No point denying it, then. "Yes, sir."

"Why are you bleeding on my table?!" Vernon demanded.

Harry knew there was no answer that would be acceptable. He decided to lie. "Banged my arm on the door." Totally truthful, if the teeth of Dudley's newly acquired pitbull, Mauler, could be called "the door"... and thankfully, said dog was currently outside, unable to appreciate that Harry was covering for him. Not that Mauler would appreciate it, if he'd been in hearing distance.

Dudley, of course, was no help. "He's lying, Dad!"

Almost reflexively, Vernon's fist lashed out.

Harry could have avoided it. Last time he had, Vernon had lost his balance and toppled over. And the beating Harry got for that was far worse than the one punch would have been. So he took the hit. Plenty of practice allowed him to stay upright and conscious. Also, he really needed that bread.

So Harry picked up his water, sipped a bit, and spat the blood and a tooth into the glass.

Vernon's fist crashed into the table, making it jump. "Disgusting boy! Out of my sight this instant!"

Harry considered his options very briefly, stuffed the bread into his mouth, and quickly left the table. He was back in his "room" in record time, and heard the padlock rattling soon after. He was locked in again. No surprise there.

"Hey, freak," Dudley muttered softly through the door. "Mauler sends his love. Can't wait to have a bite with you for dessert."

Mauler was Dudley's rather aggressive pitbull, and Harry had the bite marks to prove it. One of which was fresh enough to still be bleeding, apparently. Harry thought about re-wrapping his arm, but knew it was pointless, so close to yet another encounter with Mauler. That would be a waste of bandages, and he was going to need them. Petunia rarely bought those, as they would have been expensive, considering how often Harry ended up hurt around Dudley and Vernon, with or without Mauler's help. Fortunately, one of Dudley's old shirts was large enough to be cut into several makeshift bandages, and Harry had plenty of Dudley's old shirts.

A few hours later, the padlock rattled again. Harry tensed up when he heard a soft growl. The door opened, just wide enough for Mauler to slip in, which he did with apparent glee. Then the door slammed shut, they were alone in the dark, and Mauler pounced upon his favorite victim.

Mauler was not especially big, fast, or even heavy. If Harry had time to prepare for him, and perhaps a long, blunt object, he felt that it wouldn't be hard to put the fear of a cornered Harry into Mauler. But the few times Harry had even been suspected of breaking Dudley's things had resulted in beatings.

Aside from that, Mauler was a living thing. And Harry knew exactly what it was like, a living thing being mistreated, simply because someone could. So he didn't hate Mauler, so much as pity him for being Dudley's pet. Harry could actually believe that, beyond Dudley constantly egging Mauler on, Mauler might simply be repeatedly attacking Harry because he was the only person in the house whose skeletal structure was plainly visible, and Harry's bones were likely more appetizing than the food Dudley wasn't feeding Mauler. Even Petunia was not quite that bony, and even if she had been, any animal that bit her would have been shipped off to Vernon's sister Marge.

Getting hurt as much as Harry did had taught him a lot about his body. He had an unusually high tolerance for pain. He based this primarily on the displeasure the Dursleys displayed when the beatings never produced the appropriate amount of pain response. The only other explanation was that they were bad at giving beatings, which was certainly not true.

Harry did feel pain, of course, but it always seemed to fade, or at least be replaced by a curious numbness, before very long. It was appropriate, because Harry felt numb about a great deal of his life in general.

He made no attempts to better or change his situation, because it seemed pointless. Vernon and Petunia were well-known in the neighborhood, and, as unlikable as Harry found them, they had several friends who would recognize him on the spot if he ever ran away. He also had no money, no friends, and no real hope. He had actually been picked up by a police officer once who mistook him, by his state of dress and glum expression, as a homeless person. That resulted in Vernon explaining that Harry was his disturbed nephew who they had to keep confined to the house for his own good. And since Vernon occasionally played golf with the police chief, it never went any further than that, and neither did Harry.

And after ten years of living with and being hated by the Dursleys, Harry had come to a conclusion: his only real chance of escape was to die. He wasn't suicidal, and the thought of taking his own life terrified him. But the Dursleys had ensured that the world outside of their home would never accept him as anything other than their deranged relative who only they could control. So with no way to truly live, what was left but to die?

So as he sat there, allowing Mauler to prove he had been aptly named, Harry made a decision. Though Mauler proved to occasionally be as lazy as his owner, chewing on Harry clearly excited him. So perhaps, if Harry did not resist, Mauler might get lucky and bite something vital. And then Harry might get lucky, and die. The Dursleys could hardly blame him: they offered no medical treatment, refused to take him to the hospital, and didn't feed him enough where he could possibly be hardy enough to recover from serious injury unaided. And even if he could, why would he want to?

This thought, that death was the answer to Harry's problems, was not just a thought. Harry had no way of knowing it, but this thought became a realization for a deeper, primal part of him, and that part of him turned realization into reality. That reality was like an airborne poison, and it began to spread.

At that very moment, there was a common garden snake making its way through Petunia's rose bushes. It froze, as if sensing danger, and promptly died on the spot. And then the roses themselves began to darken and shrivel.

Not long after that, something approached Privet Drive by the air. It was an owl. And it had barely crossed into the airspace above number four's front yard when it went stiff, plummeted from the air, and slammed into the ground. It was dead before impact.

And inside that dark cupboard space, where this unseen lethal force had been unleashed, everything that lived also went stiff and instantly collapsed. But only one of them was still breathing. His name was Harry Potter, and though he could not see it, the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead was shining like a beacon, bathing the tiny space in an eerie green glow.

Ironically, if anyone familiar enough with the circumstances that lead to Harry being orphaned had seen that glow, they would have instantly recognized it for what it was, and thus would have done everything in their power to not be the one who had to eventually explain it to him.

But no one did see. And because this force was not, in the strictest sense, a typical occurrence of under-aged, accidental magic, an equally atypical sensor within the Ministry of Magic detected it. This sensor did not alert, nor was it in any way connected to, the Improper Use of Magic Office.

Instead, the call was sent to a space that was, on paper, listed as a very specific portion of the Department of Mysteries.

This portion was a closet, and there was nothing magical about it.

The pulsing, crimson rip in thin air beside the closet was another story. Presently, a little girl emerged from it, and skipped over to the computer console that had received and logged the call. With the press of a single key, the display lit up, revealing the message: NEW OBSCURIAL EMERGENCE DETECTED. STATUS: LOCATED.

"Yay!" the girl squealed, clapping her hands excitedly. "A new friend!" She paused to glance around the room expectantly. When no one else entered after several seconds, she pouted. "But no one's here to go find them," she murmured sadly. Turning back to the screen, she put her hands on her hips and made a firm decision. "Well then, _I'm_ going!"

This was, as she well knew, Strictly Not Allowed, and she would be in Majorly Big Trouble not if, but when she was caught. But that was for later. Right now, there was someone out there who needed to be found.

"Wait for me, new friend! I promise I'll save you!"

The girl spun in place several times with her arms extended. In seconds, her white robes of office materialized around her body, held in place by a broach shaped like a golden sun. She drew her hood up over her hairless, dark brown head, and her yellow eyes gleamed with anticipation. She tapped the console one last time, officially changing the status message from LOCATED to REFINEMENT IN PROGRESS. The computer helpfully printed out not only the target's address, but several nearby locations that he was known to frequent.

"Alright! Astute Sahara, Grade 2, will now start her sacred mission!" With another twirl, she vanished into thin air, leaving only a few grains of glittering sand in her wake.

* * *

Continued in **Chapter 2: HERA - Our Lady of Wrath**

Credence's companion meets the Barebones. Dudley gets revenge.

* * *

 **Endnotes:**

Again, this is slightly (or majorly, depending on your perspective) alternate universe. I have not so much changed the rules on becoming an Obscurial, as taken a different viewpoint on them. Although I will readily admit to altering what comes after that point. Harry, as always, is exceptional. But so was Credence. And with only the exceptional to serve as an example, I kinda had to invent the standards... for a largely exceptional people. Tricky.


	2. HERA - Our Lady of Wrath

**Harry Potter and the Inferi Complex**  
 **A Fantastic Beasts/Harry Potter Crossover by**  
 **Nate Grey (xman0123-at-aol-dot-com)**  
 **Chapter 2: HERA - Our Lady of Wrath**

* * *

 **NOW**

As there was a great deal of difference between Dudley Dursley's stated intelligence in school, and his actual intelligence, there was plenty he didn't understand.

Dudley didn't understand why the Potters would leave their only son to someone who clearly despised them, even if they were family. Even Dudley could see that Harry likely would have been better off in foster care. At least if they'd hated him there, it would be due to general dislike of children, and not personal reasons.

Dudley didn't understand the beatings. Oh, he knew they were partially to keep Harry in line. But he would occasionally hear his parents mutter something along the lines of "beat _It_ out of him" under their breath. Dudley had always thought that It was _Disobedience_ , but now he was convinced it was _Potter Blood_ , because the last thing his parents wanted was Harry ending up anything like the Potters, whatever that meant. Dudley knew as little about the Potters as Harry did: that Lily Evans had married James Potter, that they'd both died in a car crash when Harry was a baby, and that Harry had ended up with the Dursleys as a result.

Dudley especially didn't understand Harry, not that he really wanted to. Dudley considered himself a pro when it came to bullying, in that he was sure he could make a career out of it. If there was one thing he'd seen a lot of, it was skinny kids like Harry who couldn't fight well enough to save their pocket money. What there weren't a lot of were skinny kids who healed up anywhere near as fast as Harry did. Dudley had only noticed because he preferred his victims to stay down longer than Harry typically did. He'd also noticed that his parents had never taken Harry to a hospital. So either Harry was sneaking off to the hospital every chance he got and getting free treatment, or he was, like Dudley's mother had always said, a freak. And not even a very good one, since the only thing healing fast meant was more beatings.

But Dudley didn't bully Harry because he was a freak. He did it for the same reason he bullied anyone else: Harry was smaller, and either unable or unwilling to fight back effectively. So whatever else his parents said about Harry, Dudley didn't care much if Harry was a freak.

At least, Dudley didn't care until he opened the cupboard door the following morning, found Harry unconscious, and Mauler (and rather a lot of spiders) dead beside him.

Dudley's parents were outraged, and yet did not quite react the way Dudley expected them to. Instead of phoning Aunt Marge to have a replacement dog sent right away, his father outright refused to have another pet in the house, and then dug a small grave for Mauler in the backyard, raving the whole time about how Harry was a menace to anything living and that they weren't running a pet cemetery.

When Harry finally woke up hours later, he seemed just as surprised as everyone else that Mauler was dead, and buried. He even seemed sorry about it. But he denied having killed Mauler, or having contributed in any way to the dog's death, and claimed he had no idea what had happened after Mauler bit him. Dudley was suspicious enough that he didn't immediately accuse Harry of lying. He was having a hard time believing that Harry could kill anything, even accidentally. But even a freak could get lucky. Meanwhile, Dudley was down one pitbull, his parents weren't getting him another one, and Harry never had any money to rip off.

Dudley wasn't happy. But he wasn't furious, either. So he didn't beat Harry into a bloody pulp, as he normally might have.

Instead, he waited.

Routinely, Dudley's parents got sick of Harry's presence, muted though it was by being locked in the cupboard, and kicked him out of the house for a few hours. So the next time that Harry emerged from the house, he paused, noticing that, for some reason, virtually every plant in the front yard, including the grass, was dead.

He was still trying to figure out the cause when Dudley came around the side of the house. And by the time Harry noticed motion out of the corner of his eye, he only had time to turn directly into the baseball bat swinging at his face.

Dudley was not merciless. He didn't want Harry dead or crippled. Deep down, he recognized that Harry was his cousin, even if his own parents liked to pretend that the Potters had never existed. And even if they had still existed, Dudley's parents certainly wouldn't have admitted that the Potters were related. The point was, Dudley had been beating up Harry long and often enough where he knew when Harry had gotten the point.

So when Harry dropped after the first swing, hands clamped over his right eye and groaning, Dudley lowered the bat. "That was for Mauler," he said simply, before going inside.

After a few minutes, Harry slowly uncovered his eye, and felt around the grass for the remains of his glasses, which he was certain he'd heard break. The pain had already numbed, but something more alarming demanded his attention. His left eye appeared to work as fine as it ever had. But the right eye, when he finally dared to open it, was instantly, notably different: everything it saw was now in black and white.

Harry briefly panicked, thinking that a splinter from the bat might have damaged his sight. But all too soon, the panic was replaced by resignation. So he couldn't see in color out of one eye anymore. What was there to see, really? The inside of the cupboard? The hateful faces of the Dursleys? Maybe not being able to see in color wasn't exactly a curse, under those circumstances. And in any case, he wouldn't be seeing very much at all, unless he could manage to piece together his glasses. It wasn't too likely that his aunt would be willing to pay for a new pair, and certainly not today of all days.

With a heavy sigh, Harry carefully slipped the remains of his glasses into his pocket. There at least wasn't much blood, so that was probably a good thing. But he decided to stay outside and wash up with the garden hose first. No telling what his aunt and uncle would accuse him of, if he went inside with blood on his face. They already thought he'd killed Mauler.

And because Harry didn't have his glasses on, he couldn't really be blamed for failing to notice the small pile of dead owls at the edge of the yard.

* * *

 **THEN**

The house was exactly in the state it was always in: dark. Depressing. A bit drafty. Certainly not the type of place you would bring a pretty woman to, unless she had a fascination for such places, which most of them decidedly did not.

Credence was dreadfully embarrassed, but his new companion, far from being disappointed or disgusted, seemed terribly interested.

They had only taken a few steps inside when rapid footfalls were heard, and Modesty came charging at them in a white nightgown, rather like an angry goose. "Credence!" she hissed. "Where have you been?! Mother is-" and there she stopped, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Y-You... what were you thinking, Credence?!" she gasped. "You're late, and you brought home a pretty girl?! Oh, she'll _murder_ you!"

Credence was always astonished by Modesty's ability to pick up words that he thought girls her age just shouldn't be familiar with. Although it was entirely possibly that their mother had told Modesty all about murder, just to be sure she behaved. If so, he didn't think it had worked out very well.

Far from being upset over the possibility of Credence being murdered, his companion smiled and knelt down, offering her hand to Modesty. "Hello. You must be Modesty. It's wonderful to meet you."

A little startled, Modesty hesitantly shook hands.

"You don't need to worry. I won't let Credence be murdered."

Despite having no further information about the stranger, Modesty was instantly reassured by this. "What's your name, lady?"

"Goodness, I haven't said, have I?" she asked, looking embarrassed. "I'm working now, so I think it's best that you call me Hera."

"Like the goddess?" Modesty asked at once.

"Hopefully not," Hera murmured, drawing odd looks from both Modesty and Credence. "Anyway, what a lovely home you two have here. And _this_ must be your mother!"

Modesty and Credence froze, horrified, as Mary Lou Barebone slowly but purposefully descended the stairs. She did not look happy. She rarely did, but she especially did not look happy just then. Nor did she look furious, which would have been preferable. Instead, she appeared utterly calm. She always gave the very worst beatings when she looked like that.

"You dare," she whispered, staring directly at Credence, "to disrespect me, my home, my rules, in such a blatant way? I won't have it." And she extended her hand ominously.

With no other choice, face burning in shame, Credence began to take off his belt. He was stopped by a soft, warm hand on his.

"Hello," Hera said, somehow twisting the word so that it was less a greeting and more a bold statement. "I'm afraid it's my fault that Credence is a bit late tonight. So if he is to be punished in any way, I must insist that you-"

"Shut up, girl!" the older woman hissed.

Hera pursed her lips. "That was quite rude. I think I will leave now." And then, to everyone's amazement, she turned to Credence and smiled. "Would you like to come with me, Credence?"

Credence was shocked, so much so that he wasn't thinking clearly. That had to be the reason, because he immediately blurted out the truth. "Yes, I would, very much so."

Beaming, Hera turned to Modesty. "You are welcome to-"

But Modesty had already latched onto Credence's hand, and it was clear that she hadn't done so to keep him there.

At the betrayal of her children, their mother shrieked in outrage and launched herself across the room, directly at Hera, who she determined was the instigator.

Again acting without thinking, Credence shoved Modesty into Hera's arms and threw himself in his mother's path. Perhaps he was expecting _something_ to happen, and if he was, then something decidedly different happened.

His mother's hand was mere inches from clawing at his face when something finally _did_ happen.

There was a sound not entirely like _BOMF_ , a brief flash of light, and then Mary Lou Barebone went sailing across the room, tumbling end over end, crashed into a table, vanished over the top of it, and hit the floor with a satisfying thud. The table wobbled for a few seconds, then made up its mind and fell on top of her, with an even more satisfying thud.

"That," Hera decided regretfully, "was even ruder. I really should apologize, but... well, I won't."

Credence and Modesty stared at her.

She frowned. "I _tried_ to leave. You heard me try to leave. But she was going to strike you, and I couldn't allow that."

"Why not?" Modesty asked, sounding every bit a child who was used to being struck.

Hera grimaced and hugged Modesty tightly. "You are _definitely_ coming with us."

Credence was looking at his hands, as if he'd never seen them before. Not as if they'd betrayed him, but as if they were suddenly incapable of aiding him.

"I owe you an apology, too, Credence," Hera said. When he didn't seem to hear her, she leaned in and brushed her lips against his ear, which immediately got his attention and turned his face bright red. "It doesn't work quite the same way now. You'll have to learn how to be yourself, while remaining entirely yourself."

He stared at her, not quite sure what she meant, but also not quite as confused as he had been.

At that moment, Chastity came running down the stairs in her nightgown, apparently drawn by the noise. She gasped when she saw the state of her mother, but did not immediately rush to help. Instead, she turned to the trio near the door, and gave them a sort of resigned, grim smile.

"I wondered how long it would take, for something like this to happen."

Hera stepped forward. "Hello, Chastity. My name is Hera."

Chastity blinked. "I... see." After a few seconds, she asked, "You will take good care of my siblings, won't you?"

"I swear it," Hera replied.

"You can come with us, Chastity!" Modesty suddenly cried.

Hera nodded to show this was the case.

But Chastity smiled tightly and shook her head. "Whatever else she is, she's still the only mother I've ever known. I won't leave her. Not yet. You two should go, though. Your place, I'm sure now, just isn't here, and never was. But... write to me, if you can, to let me know that you're safe. It doesn't have to be often."

"They will write," Hera promised. "And if you decide one day that you would like to join us, you need only tell us so. We will be listening."

"Thank you."

Modesty ran to Chastity and threw her arms around her sister's waist. Chastity stroked Modesty's head tenderly.

Credence hesitantly approached, and then asked awkwardly, "May I kiss your cheek, Chastity?"

She smiled, shook her head, and said, "Oh, Credence," for the last time. But then she presented her cheek to him, and he kissed it, trying very much to convey everything he felt for her in it. He wasn't sure it worked, but as he drew back, he thought he saw a bit too much moisture in her eyes before she blinked it away.

Then Hera came over, shook Chastity's hand, very business-like, and exchanged nods with her.

Only when they had gone, and Chastity turned to check on her mother, did she notice the business card that had been slipped into her sleeve. It was Hera's, and rather fancy, in Chastity's opinion. The background was white and decorated with what looked like many tiny fireworks, which exploded, faded, reformed, and exploded again when the light caught them.

 **HERA**  
 _Astute, Full Grade_  
 _(Personnel Code: ADD-K)_  
 _Department of Mysteries, Astute Office_  
 _British Ministry of Magic_

And on the back, even more impressive:

 _This card is issued to, and can only be read by, **Miss Chastity Barebone**. To ensure all post reaches the recipient, always write the Personnel Code anywhere within the post. The post bird will return the post to the sender, if the post cannot be delivered as is._

"What is a post bird?" Chastity murmured, then pocketed the card and finally went to help her mother.

Some time later, she would discover a large, red-eyed raven, perched outside her bedroom window, staring at her expectantly. When she finally took pity on the poor creature and opened the window in order to feed it, it flew inside, took up residence on her desk, and refused to leave no matter how much she coaxed it. Oddly, whenever she had written a letter for Credence, Modesty, or even Hera, the raven and the letter would vanish, and the raven would return days later, looking rather pleased with itself, often with a return letter sitting front and center on the desk. But because Chastity never actually gave the post to the raven, she never once considered that it might be a post bird, and instead thought of it as a handsome pet. So she talked to it, and stroked it, and fed and watered it, and thought it a lovely companion to have.

The raven was partially to blame. It was, after all, capable of human speech, and could have told her outright what it was doing there. But it also knew that some humans reacted badly to talking birds, and it didn't want the nice treatment to be replaced by things thrown rather hard at it. So it kept its beak shut.

* * *

 **NOW**

The first thing that Modesty Barebone learned about the Astute Office was that everyone who worked in it had a sponsor. Usually, it was an old family with money, or a single aged guardian with money. She had been worried about her own prospects. She and Credence didn't have any friends, and certainly no rich friends.

Hera had almost laughed at her. "Of course, I'll be sponsoring you two!" she said. "I promised Chastity that I'd take care of you, didn't I?" So that was that.

The second thing Modesty learned about the Astute Office was that everyone in it had at least two names, and depending on their job, might even switch back and forth between them as needed. There were various reasons for this, but the main one was that it was never supposed to be common knowledge when someone with a public identity entered the Astute Office. So Modesty was strongly encouraged to pick a new name, and she did. And since Hera was acting as her new big sister, it only made sense to adopt her surname. Only she didn't have one during work hours, and Credence was reluctant to the idea, though more because he was more interested in Hera one day taking his surname, whatever it might be by then.

Also, Hera didn't seem to want to tell them what her surname was. This was unusual, in that the Barebones were total strangers to the wizarding world, and there was no way that any family's name or reputation would have meant anything to them. Hera did not seem ashamed of her family, just extremely guarded about it. But that quality only proved Hera to be a great protector, and made Modesty desire her as a big sister even more. And she wasn't even the only person there who felt that way.

In the end, Hera gave in, and Modesty (now Merrily) learned that her new big sister's name was Ariana D. Dumbledore. Which finally explained most of the mystery behind her Personnel Code. And the rest of it was revealed when Merrily was told that the final letter in the code was generally a reference to the employee's parent.

Merrily, despite any attachment she still felt, did not want her code to refer to Mary Lou Barebone, and neither did Credence (now Oaths Taken Seriously... no, really). Fortunately, it was a matter of choice, and they were given the option of asking someone else to be their guardian. Only, that person could not work in the Astute Office. Ariana said she would write to one of her brothers about it, and soon enough, both Merrily and her brother had a nice, welcome "-A" to round out their Personnel Codes, despite having never actually met the person it referred to. Merrily occasionally sent Ariana's brother letters of gratitude, and got what she assumed was a favorable response, in the form of packages of fine breads and cheeses. These later began to include wine, but only three years after she was of age virtually everywhere.

Now, if asked, Merrily would say she had chosen her name well. She was happy, blatantly so, and her brother (who she refused to call Oaths, sometimes still called Credence, but mostly referred to by his on-duty name) at least did not appear to be unhappy. She enjoyed her work, which she could see for herself helped people, if only a rather select group of them. But then, she very much felt the same had applied to her once. And that hadn't prevented Hera from helping.

Sadly, Merrily had chosen precisely the wrong night to indulge in a little bread, cheese, and wine for dinner, followed by a nice catnap. By the time she returned to her desk, yawning slightly, the mess that greeted her, confined to a blinking monitor though it was, would not be easily resolved in the next few minutes.

She immediately slapped the red button on her desk, activating the intercom. "Astute Hera, please report to the Scanning Room immediately!"

Only two seconds later, Hera stepped out of the rip near the closet. She had changed physically in only two ways in all the years Merrily had known her: she was exactly a head taller, and all of her hair was now snow-white.

"What's wrong, Merrily?" Hera asked, her voice as pleasant as ever. It was a small comfort, but Merrily barely even noticed this time.

"Two things," Merrily breathed. "First, Harry Potter is an Obscurial."

"Damn them," Hera whispered at once, flushing slightly when Merrily gaped at her. "I mean, you're certain?"

"Based on all the available information, it couldn't be anyone else. But it gets worse."

"Worse than the Boy Who Lived slowly being corrupted by those foul Muggles that he lives with?"

"Nearly. Sahara's gone after him."

Hera blanched. "Oh, you sweet and silly girl," she sighed heavily, but fondly. "Has she made contact with him?"

"Not yet, but she'd better do it quickly. I'm getting some very strange readings, which is standard for any Emergence, but this is... wrong. Very wrong."

"In what sense?"

Merrily hesitated. "The computer is supposed to gather sample data from the security wards, and give us at least a vague impression of what we might be dealing with. Based on what I'm seeing here? It looks like someone cast small-scale Killing Curses about _twenty-five times_ in the space of three minutes."

Hera frowned. "What do you mean, 'small-scale', Merrily? There is no scale for the Killing Curse. There's just death."

"I know. What I mean is the deaths don't appear to be human. The data suggests they were all animals and plants. I think some of them were post owls."

"Then the Ministry knows?"

"Unconfirmed. Given Harry's age, these could have been the standard Hogwarts letter owls. You know they're persistent."

"I'll confirm," Hera said dismissively. "And Harry?"

"His movement patterns haven't changed, anyway. So at least he is able to move, and his Emergence doesn't seem to have altered his body in any way that's drawing much attention."

"I suspect things dying in his presence might be noticed soon enough," Hera pointed out. "If Sahara doesn't find him soon, I'll have to."

"You're not really going to leave this to her, though?" Merrily asked.

"For the moment, I must. We need to know who sent those owls, and I can find out faster than anyone else, if they came from Hogwarts. Sahara isn't the best choice for this task, but she is on her way already, and will likely reach Harry before anyone else we send can. Who do we have operating nearby at the moment?"

Merrily bit her lip. "Well... there is my brother."

Hera looked greatly relieved. "That's perfect. Have him tail Sahara for the time being. He can keep her out of too much trouble, and make a note of anything she breaks that we need to fix later. Once I know how best to proceed, I'll deal with Harry myself."

* * *

 _from The New Astute's Handbook, by Opan Dor_

 _The Obscurial and the Obscurus_

 _When approaching an Obscurial, you cannot disregard or underestimate the Obscurus. It is a powerful entity, worthy of respect and fear. It may even be more practical, rather than viewing the Obscurial as a person with a destructive parasite, to view the Obscurial and the Obscurus as identical twins. No matter how different their forms are from each other, they began as one. They shared the same heart, mind, and body. But where one withdrew, the other lashed out relentlessly._

 _An Obscurus cannot be embraced or reasoned with by an outsider. The fact that it exists at all indicates that it is well beyond such methods being effective or even possible. But even if an Obscurial can be convinced, it is highly unlikely that they possess enough control to tame the Obscurus on their own. And yet, there exists a rare breed of Obscurial, so closely linked with the Obscurus that they are as one in action and thought._

 _I was unable to save the first Obscurial I encountered. He was just a boy, barely six years old, and yet he had known such torment that no one was able to hold out for long against the resulting Obscurus. Even as he lay dying, there was a wide smile on his face, despite the agony he was in. When I asked for the reason, his answer chilled me like nothing else._

 _"We always fought each other. I hated it, and it hated me. But in the end, there was only the two of us. It always had been, but I couldn't see it until now. It was like wiping off a fogged up mirror, and finally being able to see my reflection. It wasn't trying to hurt me. It just wanted to be seen by me. If I'd known that sooner, neither of us would have had to feel so alone all this time."_

 _And he died, convinced that the Obscurus that tore his body apart and ended his life, had been his one and only friend._

 _And to this day, after all that I have learned, I cannot say for certain that he was wrong._

* * *

 **Continued in Chapter 3: SAHARA - Sand Dancer**

Mr. Scamander introduces his Gila. Harry remembers.

* * *

 **Endnotes:**

You may notice the Dursleys are a bit different here.

JKR lists very specific reasons as to why Harry didn't become an Obscurial. One of these was that the Dursleys didn't hate magic, they feared it. To the point that they never mentioned it to Harry, thus he was never made to feel ashamed of it, which is key to the process. Which implies that Petunia fears magic. But it seems to me more like she hated or envied Lily for having it. If she feared Lily, it seems very strange to me that she would take in Lily's orphaned son, rather than put him up for immediate adoption. Especially if she was so afraid of the magic he would surely possess, and might one day use against her in retribution for a decade of mistreatment. All the more reason to treat him kindly, so there would be no need to fear him or his magic.

If, on the other hand, Petunia hated magic more than she feared it, and would not hesitate to forcibly suppress Harry's magic by "beating him proper", that makes more sense to me. Magic made Lily the favorite daughter, broke up the Evans family in Petunia's eyes. Of course she would hate it. And if she did feel anything positive for Lily, then magic got Lily killed. So Petunia would view Harry in one of two ways: either as a reminder of the magic she hates, or, she is so obsessed with Harry being normal that she would beat the magic out of him. Because in a twisted way, she doesn't want magic to kill Lily's son as it did Lily. But even that would not make her like him.

I will not just assume that Petunia hates Harry. Even Snape had a deeper reason that had little to do with Harry as a person. But, like Snape, I would never expect Petunia to admit her feelings to anyone she didn't trust completely. Which makes Vernon the only one who knows her feelings, although I think assuming he totally shares them gives him too much credit. The Evans weren't family to him. But it is safe to assume he prefers a normal, non-magic nephew.

One important note for Dudley: his parents haven't told him the truth about Harry. So he is forced to come up with his own reasons for how they view him. And his own reasons to treat Harry as they do, since it is encouraged. I remain impressed that canon Dudley was able to see Harry as family and show concern for him, and since all three Dursleys are less blinded by fear here, I would hope it would make them slightly more intelligent. And, unfortunately, far less afraid of consequences in their treatment of Harry.

Astutes have personalized business cards. Not in the sense that they designed them, but in the sense that the design mirrors the personality. Which isn't always a great idea.


	3. SAHARA - Sand Dancer

**Harry Potter and the Inferi Complex**  
 **A Fantastic Beasts/Harry Potter Crossover by**  
 **Nate Grey (xman0123-at-aol-dot-com)**  
 **Chapter 3: SAHARA - Sand Dancer**

* * *

 _from The New Astute's Handbook, by Opan Dor_

 _The Astute and Wizardkind_

 _An Astute is not a wizard or witch._

 _A wizard or witch, ideally, should not become an Astute._

 _And yet, we are all blessed, or cursed, to wield magic._

 _These are ironclad truths, even if only we, as Astutes, are aware of them._

 _The existence of Obscurials, for several reasons, have been hidden from the wizarding world. And I need not stress that it was not our idea to do so. The act of even stating the word "Obscurial" aloud is an offense punishable by jail time in some regions._

 _No one likes to be reminded of their greater failures. Least of all those who are accustomed to fixing or erasing mistakes with magic._

 _Consequently, the existence of Astutes is an even greater secret from the wizarding world. And yet, I cannot truthfully state that we are entirely self-reliant. Through the years, we have benefited from the aid of particularly skilled wizards and witches, who have either helped conceal our existence, or participated in the locating and capture of Obscurials, often at great personal risk._

 _To our magical brethren, I express the following. We humbly and sincerely thank you._

 _I would also like to offer a message to two wizards in particular._

 _To Albus Dumbledore and Newt Scamander: you remain two of the most infuriating wizards I have ever had the displeasure to meet, and I would greatly appreciate it if, should we happen to meet in the next life, you simply crossed the street without speaking, and pretended not to know me. Also, thank you very much. But again, please remember the bit about not knowing me._

* * *

 **THEN**

"I don't understand," Ariana said, pouting. "Why can't I have a wand?"

"I did not say that you could not have a wand," her teacher said patiently. "I said that it was unnecessary."

"But why?" Ariana asked.

"What is the first thing that I told you, after I Refined you?"

"That I had a beautiful smile," Ariana replied at once with a big grin.

He chuckled. "True. The second thing, then."

"That I was safe."

"Do you know why I said that?"

"Because I was an Obscurial," Ariana stated softly. "And they always die before or at ten years old. I was nine and a half."

"And now you're older than ten," her teacher said, placing his hand on her shoulder. "Because you are no longer an Obscurial. And it's time that you understood: you are no longer a witch, either. That path was closed to you the moment your Obscurus first emerged. Just as the path to you dying as an Obscurial was closed the moment you were Refined. That is why I said you were safe."

"So I can't have a wand, because I'm not a witch anymore?"

"You don't need a wand, because you aren't a witch anymore," he corrected. "And it would be counterproductive. As an Astute, you will learn to control your magic without an instrument. A wand would only be an obstacle to that. And it might even be impossible. I last held a wand when I was eleven years old. It exploded seconds after I touched it. As I grew in power, wands would explode just from my intent to touch them. Astutes are not meant to carry wands, and I have never known one who could. You may try some day, if you like, but don't get your hopes up."

Ariana nodded. "I see. So Astutes can't do what wizards and witches do?"

"It's more accurate to say that we have other ways of doing what they do. For example, we cannot Apparate, but instead we can Weave, which is-"

"Astute Hermes, please report to the Scanning Room immediately," said a polite but clearly stressed male voice through the intercom. "You have a visitor."

Ariana blinked. "I didn't think we ever got visitors here."

"We really don't," Hermes confirmed. "Whoever is visiting, is likely extremely determined and largely unwelcome." He paused. "Actually, you should come along. This could get messy."

"But what if I'm not ready?" Ariana asked anxiously.

Hermes gave her an imperious stare. "You are my student. If you do not trust your own abilities, then at least trust my ability to accurately judge them."

When they arrived, the Scanning Room was more hectic than Ariana had ever seen it. The reason for this was both clear, and yet not quite obvious: a rather skinny, harmless looking man was standing in the center of the room, surrounded by Astutes. His clothes were torn and dirty, and most of him was stained with blood that looked to be his own. Despite this, and the chaos his presence was causing, he appeared rather calm and somewhat upbeat.

"You're a Hufflepuff," Ariana stated with certainty, before she could stop herself.

The man blinked, looked at her, and smiled. "You're a Dumbledore," he replied with equal firmness. "I have a message from your brother." He produced a small envelope and tried to hand it to her, but several Astutes instantly moved to stop him.

The letter, perhaps sensing the obstacle, flew from his hand, darted back and forth across the room, swiftly avoiding all attempts to capture it, and zoomed neatly into Ariana's hand when she finally reached for it.

"It's definitely from one of my brothers," Ariana laughed, "and clearly for me. I think you guys can relax."

There was much grumbling at this, since outsiders were not supposed to just hand post that had not been checked thoroughly to Astutes, but Ariana had already opened the letter and seemed perfectly safe. It was a short letter.

 _My Dearest Ari,_

 _I apologize for interrupting your training, and trust you are working hard to master your powers. However, I must ask a favor of you. The girl accompanying Mr. Scamander has had an extremely hard life, and I fear the new environment may prove troubling for her. She will desperately need a friend, and I am hopeful that it can be you._

 _Forever Yours,_  
 _Al_

Ariana blinked, lifted her head, and stared. There was no girl. Not a visible one, anyway.

"I couldn't read the letter, but I trust it mentioned the girl?" the man, apparently Mr. Scamander, asked.

"Yes," Ariana said slowly.

Mr. Scamander pulled at his coat pocket, which seemed especially tattered, and murmured loudly, "You can come out now, it's quite safe."

More dirt than Ariana had ever seen a single person generate suddenly flowed out of every inch of Mr. Scamander's clothing, forming a large pile directly in front of him. By the time the glittering quality of it made Ariana realize that it was actually sand, it had formed a humanoid shape, and then, with a twirl, it actually became a human: a very brown, very scarred, very bald, very short girl with yellow eyes. She immediately took a step back and clutched Mr. Scamander's leg with one hand.

Mr. Scamander cleared his throat and placed a calming hand on the girl's head. "This is Sahara. She's why I dropped by. I trust this explains that I didn't just wander in, or break in out of curiosity?"

"You still shouldn't know how to get in here, unless one of us told you," Hermes pointed out.

Mr. Scamander blinked. "When you say 'one of us', would that happen to include Albus-?"

"No," Hermes said firmly, and with growing annoyance.

"I'm sure he meant well," Ariana added.

"You are hardly unbiased," Hermes replied. "The rules are partially to protect you, as well."

"It's not much good protecting me if people like her don't know where to go for help, is it?" Ariana protested.

"She wouldn't have to know where to go, if an Astute had been the one to bring her in," Hermes said. "Which is how it's supposed to work."

"If it matters," Mr. Scamander said pointedly, "it took me six hours to get Sahara to calm down, and I had never even heard of an Astute until Albus told me about them later."

Every Astute in the room froze.

"You... calmed her down?" Hermes said, his voice unusually high. "How?"

"Talked to her, of course." Mr. Scamander patted Sahara's head, and she clung to him a bit tighter. "Is that not done here? Perhaps it's best that one of you didn't show up, then."

"She... hasn't been Refined?" Hermes demanded.

"I don't know what that is," Mr. Scamander said helpfully.

"She hasn't been touched by an Astute?"

"No, she would have reacted rather badly to that," Mr. Scamander assured him. "Would have been downright noticeable, sandstorming all over the place-"

"You are saying that you managed to transport a raw Obscurial from... where did you find her?"

"Sudan."

"From Sudan to London-"

"We stopped at Hogwarts first. Needed to be told you existed, and then given directions, as you lot aren't in any directory. Not in any way that's even remotely helpful, at least."

"Surely you can understand the need for-"

"She needs a hug," Ariana interrupted loudly.

Mr. Scamander frowned. "I did hug her. Many times."

"You're not a girl." Ariana smiled at Sahara, who stared at her.

"But you are an Astute," Hermes said to Ariana, "and she is an Obscurial. This is not your duty. Not yet."

" _You_ said I was ready," Ariana responded at once.

"For the fight that I was expecting. Not for this. I know we've reviewed the cost of Refining. You aren't prepared-"

"You don't _want_ me to be prepared yet."

"You're too young."

"Won't be forever."

"Especially not if you do this."

"What's the issue, exactly?" Mr. Scamander asked.

Hermes frowned at him. "Refining is the process that begins when an Astute makes physical contact with an Obscurial. It's sort of a restart button. It leaves the former Obscurial with control over their power. Not total, but certainly greater than they had before."

"That sounds like a good thing," Mr. Scamander offered.

"It is. For the Obscurial. But there is a significant cost, to the Astute. We come into a great deal of power as we grow and learn. So much so that our existence actually warps the world around us to varying degrees. That's where the name Astute comes from. We can learn to manipulate our surroundings to our advantage. We can even greatly decrease the rate at which we age." Hermes paused. "What year were you born in, sir?"

Mr. Scamander frowned, as if he considered this question rather rude, but still answered, "1897."

"To you, Ariana probably appears no older than eleven. She was born in 1885, came to us in 1894, and has spent your entire life here. And she is not even considered a fairly experienced Astute by our standards. But there is one thing that ensures we do not live forever. That is Refining. It drains us, our magic, our lifespan. That is why it is a task typically reserved for older Astutes, or those prepared to expire. If we allowed the young ones to recklessly Refine, there would be little point in teaching them, as they wouldn't survive long enough to make use of those teachings."

Mr. Scamander stared at Ariana. "And knowing all of that, you still want to hug Sahara?"

"Yes," Ariana said firmly.

Mr. Scamander knelt down and placed his hands on Sahara's shoulders. She turned to him at once. "This girl is someone that you can trust with your life," he said to her softly. "Because she is willing to trust you with hers."

"I hurt," Sahara muttered, plucking at Mr. Scamander's bloody sleeve, guilt shining in her eyes.

"I forgive," Mr. Scamander insisted, placing a kiss on her head.

"I stay Newt?" Sahara asked hopefully.

Mr. Scamander shook his head. "We talked about this, Sahara. If I could teach you everything that you need to know, I'd be glad to have you stay with me. But I think this is the best place for you to learn those things. And once you have, I would love for you to come and show me what you've learned. So why don't we make that our promise?"

Sahara grimaced. "I study. Newt go."

"For a while," he agreed. "And then?"

"I show Newt."

Mr. Scamander took off his scarf, which had certainly seen better days, and draped it around Sahara's neck. "I'm going to want this back at some point. I expect you to have it the next time I see you."

It was an odd thing to say, but Ariana understood. It was his way of saying that he was not abandoning Sahara, and that he fully intended to see her again. Sahara must have understood, too, because she nodded gravely, then leaned in and kissed Mr. Scamander on the nose. Instead of smiling or returning the gesture, Mr. Scamander actually blushed, which Ariana thought was adorable.

And the next time that Ariana smiled at her, Sahara shyly smiled back, and took a slow step toward her.

* * *

 **NOW**

"Time to wake up, Harry Potter."

It was cold, dark, and cramped, but Harry was used to those conditions, thanks to the cupboard.

What he was not used to was being in such a space with what was clearly an older version of himself. About the only comfort Harry could see was that at least he wasn't being stared in the face: the older Harry had his eyes firmly shut. Thinking of his own recent mishap, Harry decided there was probably a good reason for that.

"What do you want?" Harry asked. "And are you really me?"

"I want to talk. And I'm not you. Not in the way you're thinking, anyway. This is just the form that's simplest for me to take. You can call me whatever you like."

Harry frowned. The other Harry was wearing a shapeless black robe, but it was too short, and revealed that he was painfully, abnormally thin. Not even the limited diet the Dursleys provided could have possibly been responsible. The man almost had to be sick, dying, or both.

"Bones," Harry blurted out.

"As good a name as any," was the immediate, bland reply.

"What?" Harry asked in alarm. "No, wait! I didn't mean-"

"It doesn't matter, Harry," Bones interrupted. "You can't offend me, and we won't ever speak this way again. Don't concern yourself with my feelings. What we need to discuss is far more important, and our time is limited."

"Okay," Harry muttered, still feeling a bit guilty.

"Why do you want to die, Harry?" Bones asked outright.

"It's not that I want to. But there's no point in me living, if this is all there will ever be. If you were my future self, and you came here to say that I would live with the Dursleys for the rest of my life, d'you think I'd look forward to that? If I'm never going to be happy, and this is the only way out, why not? I don't know what there is when you die, but if there's any chance I could be with my parents now, why wait?"

Bones nodded. "Those aren't bad reasons, Harry. You don't have to defend yourself to me. And if you were someone else, I would say no more about it."

"But I am me, so you are going to say more," Harry guessed.

Bones grinned. "You know what the Dursleys have said about your parents. Now, given everything you know about the Dursleys, and how they feel about you, do you actually believe what they've said?"

"I know there's plenty they won't tell me," Harry admitted. "You can't be sisters as long as my mother and Aunt Petunia were, and only know how she died. And I wouldn't put it past them to lie to me."

"What do you think it is about your parents, that the Dursleys don't want you to turn out like your mother and father?"

Harry smirked. "Maybe the Dursleys are allergic to decency?"

Bones didn't smile. "How did Mauler die?"

Harry hesitated. "They say I did it, but... I-I didn't do anything. I just stood there and let him bite me."

"Again, Harry: you don't need to defend yourself to me," Bones reminded him. "I'm not you, but if we're taking sides, I'm not on theirs."

Harry would have been more relieved if Bones had said he was on Harry's side, but he nodded. "I think there's something you're trying to tell me, or get me to realize."

"Your memory is selective," Bones said. "Not your fault. You might not have even noticed. Or maybe you just didn't want to think about those times. But you need to see them."

"Bad memories, I assume," Harry muttered.

"I won't lie to you, Harry. I will say that I think doing this is worth any pain you may have forgotten. You feel you have no options. I'm saying there's at least one you can't have considered, because you didn't know it was possible. But you won't believe until you understand. And for that to happen, you need to watch."

"Are they really bad?" Harry asked.

"From my perspective, they're nothing compared to the beatings you've endured," Bones answered.

"Then show me."

"Remember the stick."

And Harry suddenly did, as clearly as if it were happening to him right then.

He'd been three years old. Petunia had taken he and Dudley to a park to play while she chatted with her friends. Dudley got to play in the sandbox with the other kids. Harry was told to play alone near the bushes.

So Harry sat there, alone, watching the other kids play and quickly growing bored. To entertain himself, he picked up a stick and pretended it was a sword.

Without warning, it was ripped out of his hand, and then Harry was howling as Petuna smacked the back of his legs with the stick, over and over again.

He never did find out what he'd done wrong.

"Remember the mud."

Harry was six years old, and face-down in a huge puddle of mud.

Dudley and his friends stood nearby, laughing and pointing.

Harry was crying.

The puddle began to steam.

Dudley was still laughing when the first ball of mud just barely clipped his ear, hard enough to leave a scrape that slowly began to bleed.

The next boy got the mud full in the face and went down at once. Then he began to scream as he discovered that the mud was far too hot.

Then a large, meaty hand was yanking Harry up roughly, and he was staring into the furious face of his uncle.

"Remember me."

And Harry did.

He remembered every beating, every wound he'd been dealt by a Dursley, including Mauler. But now, instead of merely seeing them, he could also see something that hadn't been there before. He could see Bones, carefully and faithfully tending to every single one: dulling pain, healing what he could and closing what he couldn't. All this he did with his hands, which occasionally took on a sickly, green glow.

He saw Bones standing in the front yard, that same glow pouring from his body, bathing everything that lived in that eerie light, smiling grimly as it all began to die.

He saw Bones in the cupboard, stretching out those glowing hands and laying them on Mauler.

And he saw Bones, silently standing guard over Harry's crib, his head bowed in reverence to the fallen, red-haired form at his feet.

"NO!" Harry yelled, jerking back, only to gasp as a long-fingered hand seized his shoulder firmly. "Get off, don't you dare touch me!"

"I swear that I didn't kill her, Harry," Bones said. "I didn't have the power to do anything like that yet. I was born that night. In that moment. And by the time I was, she was already dead. I couldn't have killed her even if I'd wanted to. And why would I ever? She was my mother, too."

Harry froze. "But... you said you weren't-"

"I'm not you." Bones smiled. "I'm your magic, Harry. I came from your parents, just like you did. Most of me did, anyway. But I'm sorry to say, you won't like where the rest of me came from. I've tried to make up for it. I've done my best to protect you while staying hidden at the same time, so the Dursleys couldn't blame anything else on you. I hate them so much, I wanted to hurt them. I should have. But it would have made things worse for you, if you can believe that. Without me, you'd already be dead. And our parents wouldn't want that, I know they wouldn't. If you can't forgive my existence, I'll understand. But I was only in control because you didn't know about me. And now that you do, I can leave it all to you. You won't ever have to see me again, if you don't want to. But you need to be ready. There are far worse things than the Dursleys in our world. I'm proof enough of that."

Bones finally opened his eyes. The right eye was the same faded, milky color that Harry had begun to see in the mirror. But the left eye was a burning crimson that seemed to stare directly through him.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I know you're confused. I wish I had more time to explain. There's someone who can. Maybe you remember that tiny old man who bowed to you in a shop. If you pay close attention, you'll realize that he's in almost _every_ shop you've ever been to. He won't know everything, but he knows enough. Tell him the Dursleys have kept you in the dark, in every sense of the phrase, and that you're ready for the truth. About our world, and yourself." Bones turned his back on Harry. "Always remember, Harry. Death isn't your only option. But it is your power."

* * *

Before Albus Dumbledore entered his office, he could feel the familiar presence within, as well as hear the hoarse croaks of his phoenix, Fawkes. The latter did not surprise him: Fawkes was very close to a Burning Day, so he would both look and sound quite awful. The former, however...

It was very difficult to define the relationship between Albus and either of his siblings in a positive light, but this was especially the case with Ariana. It was even more difficult, in light of how far their parents and Aberforth had gone to protect Ariana. Which meant that everyone in their family, except Albus, had done so, whatever their feelings on it were. And if Albus had simply not loved his sister at all, his callousness would have been more easily understood, if not accepted.

But it was impossible to know Ariana, so well and so closely, and not love her. And Albus had apologized in every way he knew how, just as Ariana had forgiven him in every way she could.

It fixed nothing.

They were friendly, even overly affectionate around each other. But Ariana could never forget that Albus had viewed her as more a burden than a sister, and Albus could never let himself forget it, either. They were not blatant or mean-spirited about it, the way Aberforth tended to be with Albus. But even that strained relationship between the brothers was proof that what was broken would not be repaired. Ariana could say nothing to Aberforth, who had always been devoted to her, and who loathed their brother out of fierce love for her.

Ariana was standing in front of the window as Albus entered. Fawkes was perched on her shoulder, croaking softly, and she was gently stroking his beak with a finger. She quickly turned to face Albus as he approached, and a warm smile spread across her pretty face. "Hi, Al." She walked over to give him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.

His hand briefly squeezed her shoulder. "Hello, Ari."

"Sorry I didn't warn you I'd be coming. It's a delicate situation, and I knew you'd prefer to get the details from me in person. I didn't want to put any of this in a letter that could be intercepted, and I knew Fawkes wasn't up to delivering post just now." Fawkes let out a pathetic croak, as if to apologize, and Ariana paused to croon softly at him before turning back to Albus. "Not that I wouldn't visit if I didn't have business-"

"You never need to explain yourself to me," Albus said gently.

Her face fell. "Oh, please don't do that, Al. Especially not now. You're a good man who is, as it turns out, human. It's not an unforgivable offense, not to me. This is bigger and more urgent than our old issues."

He nodded and gestured for her to sit. "Can I tempt you with some refreshments?"

"No, I'm feeling too anxious to eat right now," Ariana confessed as she took a chair in front of his desk. "This is bad, really bad."

"Perhaps you should just tell me what troubles you so?" Albus suggested, sitting behind his desk. "The sooner you do, the sooner we can discuss possible solutions."

Ariana nodded. "There's no delicate way to say it. Harry Potter is now an Obscurial."

Albus stared at her for a long moment. Then, he closed his eyes and lowered his head slightly.

"Al?" Ariana asked worriedly.

"I am... thinking," Albus said slowly. "I knew this was a possibility, but I assumed the chances were remote enough where... no. That isn't important now. You are actively tracking him, I assume?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, Sahara noticed his Emergence first and deployed on her own."

"Exactly how problematic is that? From your letters, I was under the impression that she has improved greatly since I met her."

"She has, and it's not as if she can't Refine him. It's mostly automatic, the moment we make direct contact. The bigger issue is that she may not tell him all that he needs to know, or that he may not take her seriously because of her youth. Sahara just isn't the best person to make a first impression for us."

"But perhaps she is the best person to become Harry's friend."

Ariana sighed. "Maybe. But it often takes much more than that, when facing someone who has been through years of abuse. She may have to fight him, and fortunately, her powers are more than a match for his. Which brings me to another issue. There's a very real possibility that Harry's Obscurus will be incredibly lethal. Al, this is just a theory, but based on the data, I believe that Harry absorbed the properties of that rebounded Killing Curse as a baby, and his Obscurus now carries them. He's already killing post owls accidentally. With or without proper control, he could easily be the most deadly Obscurial we've seen... ever."

Albus shook his head. "Leave it to James and Lily Potter to produce such an amazing child. And leave it to myself and Petunia Dursley to completely ruin him."

"Al, this is no time for the blame game-"

"Surely you've realized the ramifications already, Ari. Harry Potter is no longer a wizard. People will want answers when he doesn't show up in any wizarding school. They cannot be told the truth. We also can't reveal the existence of the Astutes. There are only two possible outcomes, and neither of them will be accepted very well. Either we tell the world that Harry is dead, or give the impression that he simply vanished. His death would be completely demoralizing, but his going missing would prompt searches which we can ill afford."

"It's not that I don't appreciate you trying to protect us, but if we can convince Harry to join us, this might be one time when breaking our silence is a good thing."

"No," Albus said firmly. "I appreciate your willingness to undergo scrutiny. But you underestimate what that would be like. The reason Obscurials are still mentioned in whispers, like boogeymen, is because the world still can't accept their existence. Even if you can prove that Astutes are totally stable and on the side of angels, which will be a tough sell in some cases, the world will never agree to the Ministry having control over such powerful magic users. Even if they only control Astutes in the vaguest sense."

Ariana frowned at him. "Just promise me that you aren't sacrificing Harry in order to protect me."

Albus sighed. "That is a reasonable accusation, and I cannot deny having given it some thought. But as you have reminded me many times, you are very capable of defending yourself, and I am sure the Astute Office would protect its own. No, this is not about me protecting you. This is about making sure that the Astutes remain free to do what they need to do, without the public prying into their affairs. If Harry is exposed as one of you, those days will come to an end. The sheer enormity of his fame alone would make it nearly impossible for him to be an effective part of any secret group. I will find a way to protect both Harry and the Astutes."

"Unless this is the part where you tell me that you can conjure up a convincing corpse..."

"I have not dismissed that option. I have it on good authority that my skill in Transfiguration remains unmatched. And I am equally certain that no Auror currently in the Ministry's employ even comes close in that area. The problem being that it will not just be Aurors who take an interest in Harry's demise. Such a ruse would need to fool everyone who questions the body's authenticity."

"I wasn't serious," Ariana muttered uncomfortably.

Albus simply stared at her. "A pity. I was."

* * *

 **Continued in Chapter 4: Friendly Truths**

Harry encounters Dedalus Diggle and Sahara. Astutes are tested.

* * *

 **Endnotes:**

In this version, Newt saves the Sudanese Obscurial, in unconventional fashion, and leaves quite an impression on her in the process.

I did not know that Newt was a Hufflepuff just by looking at him. But I was pretty sure he wasn't a Slytherin or Gryffindor. So maybe some people can tell.

Bones is not meant to represent what Harry might look like in the future. He's a form that Harry's magic assumes for the purposes of conversation. Though the state of Harry's magic is meant to be reflected in his appearance. And while he says his feelings aren't important, they are. Or were.

I kept the Dumbledore family issues, despite Ariana's instant fix, because magic shouldn't fix everything. And having his sister alive and well, with their history, should impact some of the judgment calls that Albus makes.


	4. Friendly Truths

**Harry Potter and the Inferi Complex**  
 **A Fantastic Beasts/Harry Potter Crossover by**  
 **Nate Grey (xman0123-at-aol-dot-com)**  
 **Chapter 4: Friendly Truths**

* * *

 **NOW**

Harry was having a very odd day.

Although he was hesitant to believe much of what Bones had told him in the dream, it was still impossible to deny all of it.

There was not a single picture of either of his parents in the Dursley home. This was not surprising in the case of his father. But there should have been at least one picture of Harry's mother and his aunt when they were younger. Even never having seen his mother alive (the sight of that fallen red-haired form still haunted him), Harry knew this to be true because there were not even any pictures of his aunt's parents. It was as if Petunia had no family before she got married. Or wanted everyone to think that. From this, Harry assumed she was no longer on speaking terms with her parents, and strongly suspected that her treatment of his mother had something to do with it.

Harry's right eye was behaving strangely. It was still seeing things in black and white, but now with some exceptions. There were traces of that same green glow on his skin, especially concentrated in areas that he distinctly recalled being wounded in. There was also what looked like a red dome encasing the entire house, and several blue domes encasing that one. Harry could only conclude that Bones had been telling the truth: it was all magic, though certainly all of it was not his. Only the green seemed to have originated from Harry. Which quickly became a matter of concern, because the mound of dirt where Mauler was buried had a matching glow, as did the small collection of dead owls that Harry found at the edge of the yard. It was no good blaming Bones for this, because Bones had come from him.

With that much confirmed, Harry walked to a local bookstore. He had no money, but the owner had occasionally taken pity on Harry and given him gently used books. But Harry was not interested in books this time. He watched the front door carefully for several minutes.

Finally, it happened: a tiny, older man wearing a top hat slipped into the bookstore. He seemed slightly startled when Harry approached him immediately, but proved friendly enough. When Harry began asking questions, however, the man shushed him and recommended that they relocate to a nearby coffee house. Misreading Harry's reluctance, the man offered to pay for them both.

The true reason that Harry hesitated was because he had never viewed a wizard with his newly changed eye before. It was one thing to see magic on his skin or in the sky, but seeing it flowing through and around a person standing in front of him was rather odd.

Soon enough, Harry learned that his coffee companion was Dedalus Diggle, and that if Harry had ever wanted to learn something about the world Bones had mentioned, then Diggle was both able and very willing to tell him. Diggle was actually offended that Harry had been almost totally in the dark about his origins, and insisted on changing that immediately.

It was all true. Diggle confirmed everything that Bones had claimed. Everything that Harry was willing to share, that is. He wisely did not mention that his magic seemed fit only for healing himself and killing others.

Diggle also mentioned post owls, which explained the dead owls in the yard. Harry was careful to state that he had never received a letter from an owl, which was true. Now that he thought about it, he could not recall any of the owls having letters with them. Harry suggested that perhaps the letters had blown away, or automatically vanished after a certain length of time. Diggle assured him that a Hogwarts letter intended for a prospective student would do no such thing, and he promised to investigate the matter immediately. Harry was not comforted by this, as he didn't want Diggle finding out too much. But Diggle's vows to both get Harry some new glasses soon, as well as to deliver the Hogwarts letter personally, if it came to that, made Harry feel a bit better. Maybe owls weren't safe from him, but at least he had never managed to kill a person.

When Diggle rose to leave, he tried to bow to Harry. Harry stopped him and insisted on handshakes from then on. No matter how highly Diggle thought of him, Harry had personally done nothing to deserve it. He was certain of that much, because even Bones had not taken credit for what happened that fateful night. Whatever had spared Harry's life, it had been nothing that either of them had done. No, if Harry had had any say in what happened then, Bones would have saved his - no, their - parents. And then it would have been Harry who pretended that the Dursleys didn't exist.

Treating his very existence like a curse, he didn't care about. But for keeping even the sight of his mother from him, he would never forgive them.

* * *

A person could not take and keep a name like Oaths Taken Seriously without giving it a great deal of thought.

It was not even that he had been particularly unhappy being called Credence. But that name, and all of the memories twisted up in it, formed a shackle created by his former adoptive mother that he would rather be without. And he now felt that she had been false, greatly so. The face she had presented to the world outside of her home was at odds with the one she had shown him within it. And it was enough of a departure that the two outsiders who had ever who had caught her at it felt the need to intervene.

She wasn't the sort of person that he wanted to be. He wanted to be someone who kept his word when he gave it, someone who was exactly what he claimed to be.

And the thing was, he had never actually sworn to help another Obscurial. It was a rather large oversight, he thought. It was always assumed that at some point during the training, the Astute would simply accept their place and do what was expected.

But through it all, his goal had never changed: his only real priorities were protecting himself and his family. Learning to master his powers was part of that, and he could not deny that hunting and fighting Obscurials was the best test of them. A rather large part of him enjoyed it, though not for the most obvious reasons.

They interested him. Each was different from, and yet, so similar to, his own past. So many abused and lost souls who placed no value on themselves, because they had been taught not to. He should have wanted to save them. Instead, he liked watching them. He liked to try and predict what they would do next. It was a strange, almost perverse pleasure. He did not mind their suffering, it made them stronger. He knew they dangled on the precipice between life and death, and yet he had never lost one that he had been assigned to. Because above all else, he was still exceptional among the exceptionals, and he was very, very good at what he did.

On every mission, he embodied the name that his teacher had given him.

Zephyrus, the Righteous Wind.

If he was told to protect them, no harm would come to them.

If he was told to bring them down, they would fall at his feet.

But he had been given no particular orders concerning Harry Potter.

And given the rather large difference in the way they carried themselves, it was no real surprise that Zephyrus found Harry before Sahara could. But he did not make contact. He merely observed.

And Zephyrus found Harry to be truly fascinating.

He knew the basic story of how Harry had become the Boy Who Lived, as did nearly every child who knew of magic. But he, and every Astute, were also made aware of the less than decent living conditions that Harry had endured since he was a baby. They weren't told why they were told, but to Zephyrus, the reason was very clear.

Even if the chances were slim, there was still a very real possibility that Harry would either emerge as a Dark wizard, or Emerge as an Obscurial, depending on just how badly he was damaged by his time with the Muggles. If he became Dark, then he would be left to Aurors and anyone else brave enough to face him. But if he became an Obscurial, then it was the Astutes who would have to bring him in.

Fate had chosen the path of the Obscurial for Harry. So the last thing they needed was a bunch of Astutes refusing to capture Harry, simply because he was their hero. That was exactly what no Astute would see Harry as, now. After all that he had gone through, there was only one possible way for any Astute to view him.

He was one of them. And he needed to be saved, like all of them had.

Even Zephyrus felt that way, though he perhaps did not feel it as strongly as some. He was curious to see how long Harry would have survived as an Obscurial, but he also saw the need for an immediate Refinement. Only, he was not willing to be the one who Refined Harry, or anyone else. Grade 1 was exactly where Zephyrus belonged, and he had no desire to move up. Sahara, on the other hand, could not bear to see a friend in pain, and would gladly Refine at the cost of shaving years off of her life. She was a bit too much like Hera in that respect, but then, some Astutes had to be.

Zephyrus did not have that problem. He concerned himself with Harry's fate, as a matter of great interest, but his happiness was not invested in James and Lily Potter's son doing well in life. No doubt they would have preferred someone a bit more involved looking after Harry, but he wasn't doing this for them, or their memory, or the sake of the wizarding world. He was doing it out of sheer curiosity.

So he could remain calm, when he learned that Harry was an Obscurial.

He could avoid panicking, upon hearing that Sahara had taken it upon herself to save Harry.

And he could easily remove each and every one of the Hogwarts letters that had failed to reach Harry, mixed in with the pile of dead owls. After all, Harry was no longer a wizard, and wouldn't need them. And it wouldn't do for the Dursleys to find the letters, either. The owls, Zephyrus left as a reminder of what Harry was now capable of. Harry would need such things in the coming days. It wouldn't do, for an Obscurial so powerful to not be mindful of it.

* * *

Harry had just left the coffee house when he was attacked: a small person leaped onto his back, wrapped their arms around his neck, and squealed directly into his ear, "Hello, new friend!"

Harry thought he took his rather well, despite having zero experience with hugs: he did not scream or struggle. Instead, he gazed into the reflective window of the coffee house, and found a brown face with a pair of yellow eyes, staring at him. "Um, hi. Can you let go of my neck now, please?"

The girl, or at least Harry thought they must be, judging by the high pitch of the voice, did as asked and dropped down to the sidewalk. This allowed Harry to face her and confirm that she was a her. A very strange her, though, judging by her bare feet and white robe. And it was hard to be sure since she had her hood up, but he thought she might have no hair on her head. He could not decide if this was due to personal choice or disease, however.

"So... why do you want to be friends with me?" Harry asked, suspecting that asking the intensely personal questions he really wanted to ask would be very rude.

The girl pouted. "Not _want_ to be! _Are_! We _are_ friends!" She grabbed both of Harry's hands and squeezed them, as if to show that clearly friends did such things.

Harry smiled patiently and extracted his hands as nicely as he could. "We don't even know each other's names."

"No problem!" The girl pressed a business card into his hand. At least, he thought it was one. All the ones he had seen had a background that was strictly one color. This one's background was black with strangely shaped orange spots on it. And the spots seemed to be moving. No, they were _definitely_ moving, because as Harry watched, the spots formed orange letters.

 **SAHARA GILA SCAMANDER**  
 _Astute, Grade 2_  
 _(Personnel Code: SGS-N)_  
 _Department of Mysteries, Astute Office_  
 _British Ministry of Magic_

Harry turned the card over. The orange spots from the front actually raced over the edge of the card to form words on the back as well.

 _Call for me and I will always come to you, new friend Harry James Potter!_

Harry might have dropped the card in shock, if he had seen it before he'd learned that magic was real, wizards and witches existed, and that he could kill things without even touching them. But now? Compared to all that, a weird but nice girl running around handing out free hugs and tricky business cards was pretty tame. And it was nice to have someone who really wanted to be his friend, even if he wasn't really sure he wanted to be hers.

"You seem like a really sweet girl," Harry began, and Sahara beamed at him. "But I don't think you want to be my friend. If you knew me, you wouldn't."

"You're lonely. You don't have any friends. If you have a family, they either don't like you or don't understand you." Sahara said all of this with a certainty that bothered Harry more than her already knowing his name had.

"I need to leave," Harry said firmly.

Her face fell. "Oh, please don't go! Whatever I said, I'm sorry! Please don't stop being my new friend!"

Although he felt justified in leaving, Harry also suddenly felt terrible. Whatever she was trying to get from him, it appeared to be working rather well. "Look, I don't have any money or food, if that's what this is about. And as for me not having friends, that's true, too. So you probably don't want to get mixed up with-"

"But that's exactly why I want to be your friend! I want to be your first, so you can see that they're really nice to have! Mine was! He had a scarf and everything!"

Harry blinked. "Erm. Sahara, I really do have to go. There's a lot of things I have to figure out. How about, when I do, then I'll give you a call? Sound fair?"

Sahara pouted slightly. "I can't come with you?"

Although that sounded innocent enough, Harry couldn't really see it that way. Either Sahara was harmless but would quickly learn that Harry and the Dursleys were not, or, Sahara was trying to find out where he lived so she could continue her scam, whatever it was. He was pretty sure he'd be back to zero friends by the end, either way. And even if she did steal something valuable, it would certainly belong to the Dursleys, not Harry, so there was very little she could do to Harry that would bother him. When you had nothing to begin with, there really was nothing to lose.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Harry said at last. "But it was... nice to meet you." He found himself admitting that much was true. Hugs were nice. Or the one had been, anyway.

"And you'll call me, if you need me?" Sahara pressed, staring at him earnestly. "Because we're friends?"

"Yes and yes," Harry said, trying very hard not to wince at the lie. There was no phone number on the card, and he suspected that the post office would not recognize the address, if it could even be called that. He decided not to point this out to Sahara, who was smiling again. She did that a lot, he noticed. He wasn't used to it. He wished he was.

"Then, until we meet again, new friend!" And Sahara rushed forward and gave Harry a big, warm, proper hug this time.

If the first hug was nice, this one was great. For a moment, Harry forgot that he couldn't or shouldn't trust her. He forgot that he was dangerous. He even forgot that his death had seemed like a good idea not too long ago. It was as if his entire life had been nothing but cloudy days, and suddenly, the sun had broken through, and was shining down only on he and Sahara.

There was no scam. There was no trick. There was just this odd girl, who wanted to be his first friend. _Was_ his first friend.

And it was a shame, Harry realized as he finally seemed to come back to himself, because things just didn't work out that way for him. They never had before, and he doubted they would now. So he enjoyed the hug for as long as it lasted, and he tried to pour as much gratitude into it as he could. Because for several reasons, he doubted he would be getting another hug from anyone anytime soon.

But as it turned out, Harry was wrong about several things.

He would be getting another hug, sooner rather than later. It would happen largely because he had met Sahara this day, but it wouldn't actually come from her.

And there was no need to worry about his being dangerous to Sahara, for two reasons. The first was that the moment she first wrapped her arms around his neck, any power Harry had to kill without conscious knowledge or intent vanished. The second was that, due to the nature of her powers, it would take considerably more than a single Killing Curse, or even several, to end Sahara's life. If Harry had trusted her with the truth, she could have, even would have told him this, to ease his fears.

But Harry had been in the dark for too long. And there were only three people in all of the world that he was willing to trust now. Two of them were dead, and the other, while Bones hadn't exactly been a person, was probably gone for good as well. So Harry had no one.

Or so he thought.

And this wasn't the first or last time, that Harry's thoughts proved far more powerful than he knew.

* * *

 **THEN**

He kept his eyes trained straight ahead as they walked down the corridor. It was safer that way.

"I've been hearing good things from your instructor. He thinks you're an excellent candidate for our accelerated program," Ariana said.

He nodded.

"You haven't been here very long, so I admit I was a little worried. The last thing I want is for you to be pushed too far, too fast. After what you've been through-"

"I want to," he said. "This... it's a different type of pushing. It's making me smarter, stronger. It serves a clear, greater purpose. It isn't bad, like the other kind of pushing."

"If you're sure," Ariana continued, "a test has been arranged. If you do well, it's proof that you're ready." She paused outside of the next door they came to. "Are you absolutely sure that you want to do this now? It can wait."

"I'm ready," he said.

"Then look at me, Credence."

He stiffened. It wasn't the commanding tone that got to him. It was the use of his old name. She only ever used it now when she was displeased with him. Such as she clearly was now. Slowly, he turned and fixed his gaze on her face.

"I know that you're attracted to me, I'm not blind."

He started to lower his head in shame, but her fingers on his chin stopped him.

"You are allowed to be attracted to a girl, you know. It's not a sin, despite what that woman may have told you. And... it's very flattering, to know how you feel about me. I can hardly discourage you. I have no real reason to." She frowned. "But the way you're always looking away, unable to meet my eyes? You've known me for months now. I don't like it, but again, it's allowed. Still, if you can barely look at me, it presents two problems. The first is that I don't think you're ready for Grade 1, if you can't even make eye contact with me consistently. An Obscurus is far scarier than a pretty girl. If you're going to fight them, you can't look away. You can't even blink, because in that instant, you could die."

"What's the second problem?"

"We'll get to that later." Ariana shook her head. "One last time: are you sure you want to do this now?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "I'm ready."

"We'll see." She turned, opened the door, and stepped inside. "Stand in the center."

He stepped inside. The room was large, but completely empty. There was just a black circle painted in the middle of the floor. He walked over and stood on it.

"The test starts now." Ariana gestured, and the door shut and vanished entirely, sealing them in.

He frowned. That wasn't a good sign.

"I'm going to attack you now," she warned him, and it was all the warning he got.

She wasn't Ariana anymore, but Hera.

Next second, it was as if a bomb had exploded just behind his head. He was sailing through the air, his ears were ringing, and he could feel blood trickling down his neck. He thought he would hit the wall, but instead another bomb went off above him, and the force of it slammed him into the floor.

She hadn't moved at all.

He coughed, splattering blood on the floor, and started to get up. Another blast drove him back down hard.

Suddenly, he was angry. She wasn't even trying. This was humiliating.

Suddenly, Hera was his mother, her hand extended for his belt.

Roaring in rage, pain, defiance, he stood up. A bomb went off in his face. He barely felt it. Another deafening blast sounded right next to his ear. He didn't care.

His fingers twitched, and the black wind was upon her before she could blink: ripping, tearing, burning, wrenching. He had used it to break through concrete, topple buildings, punch through mountains. Flesh would be nothing.

Her fingers were on the back of his neck in a light caress. "You missed."

He tried to spin around, but the space around him was filled with a series of small, precisely placed, but seemingly never-ending explosions. They were stealing away the air, he couldn't see or breathe, the world was a haze of smoke, and then he was falling.

Ariana caught him, and slowly sank to the floor, placing his head in her lap.

"I failed," he whispered after several moments.

She smiled. "You didn't pass."

"Sorry."

"Don't be, you were always going to fail. That second problem I mentioned earlier? Because you can't _look_ at me, you haven't really _seen_ me, either. So you haven't seen what I am capable of."

"Why didn't you bring it out? Your Obscurus?" He frowned. "Or was it that you didn't need to?"

She laughed softly. "Wrong." With her left hand, she cradled his head. The right hand, she held up in front of his face. "Show me yours."

The black wind reformed, curling slowly around her fingers, playfully tugging on them.

She laughed again, and he smiled, and when the black wind was blown away violently as her fingers snapped shut with the force of a gunshot, she was the only one still laughing.

"I'm a freak among freaks," she murmured. "Mine isn't precisely visible. But the mark of its passage is." She flicked her fingers at the far end of the room, and the entire room shook from the force of the explosion. A wall of thick, black smoke rolled over them, but he quickly created a small tornado in his hand that sucked it all up.

"We were made for each other," he decided.

She giggled. "I thought you'd say something corny like that."

"I still love you."

Ariana sighed. "That's sweet. But not my point. You can't be Grade 1 until you can actually put up a decent fight against the one you love. So. Let's practice."

He stood up. "I'm ready."

Ariana smirked. "I doubt it." She gestured, and the door reappeared. "I got you a sparring partner."

Sahara ran in at once, a huge grin on her face as she tackled him around the waist. "Big bro Windy! Big sis Ari said you're going to play with me all day! Is it true?!"

"Yes, it is," Ariana promised with a smug smile. "And if you do a good job, you might even move up to Grade 2."

"Yay!" Sahara cheered.

He frowned at Ariana. "This isn't what we talked about."

Ariana chuckled. "You're not the only one who wants to move up around here, you know." She patted Sahara's shoulder. "I'm very proud of both of you. Now it's time to show how ready you really are. Sahara needs to prove that she's truly mastered her Obscurus, while you need to prove that you're ready to hunt them if you have to. Given the nature of each of your powers, you're very tricky opponents to match up, so who better to help you train?"

"I feel like you just put me on babysitting duty," he muttered.

"Oh?" Ariana's eyes flashed. "Just so you know, Sahara mastered her Obscurus faster than you did, and she's more than ready to fight one. The main reason she hasn't moved up has to do with her immaturity. So I wouldn't get too cocky if I were you."

"I'm really strong!" Sahara said excitedly, flexing her nonexistent muscles at him.

He frowned at her, and tried to protest to Ariana again, but she had already left and sealed the door again. The walls began to ripple, and suddenly they were standing beneath a blazing sun on miles and miles of sand.

Sahara grinned. "Oh, good! She gave me the field advantage!"

"I'm doing this under protest," he grumbled, spreading his arms to summon a towering, black tornado at his back.

"So cool!" Sahara gasped, her yellow eyes wide. "My turn!" And she spread her arms wide, then quickly brought them together in front of her, hands meeting with a loud smack.

He expected something like an enormous wall of sand, rising up in the space of a second.

What he got instead was an enormous black and orange shape exploding from the sand beneath his feet, huge mouth opening wide as sand filled the air, choking him every bit as much as Ariana's explosions had.

"I hate my life," he whispered just before the mouth snapped shut around him, plunging him into darkness.

* * *

 _from The New Astute's Handbook, by Opan Dor_

 _Astute Grading_

 _Every Astute is classified by their Grade, which determines their skill level, readiness to interact with others, and their assigned roles._

 _A Grade 3 Astute is a new recruit who has yet to master any of their powers to a safe level. Their interactions may be limited to a single instructor, or set of instructors, until they prove competent enough to progress._

 _A Grade 2 Astute has mastered their Obscurus, and is no longer a danger to their own existence. They are free to interact with other Astutes, and may be asked to teach recruits._

 _A Grade 1 Astute has mastered their body (specifically, the use of magic directly through their body, as opposed to via an Obscurus). They can safely interact with the wizarding world, and may be asked to capture, and in some cases, Refine an Obscurial._

 _A Full Grade Astute has mastered their mind. They can safely interact with anyone, and are chiefly tasked with maintaining positive relations with both the wizarding and Muggle worlds. This includes locating, Refining, and bringing in new recruits._

* * *

 **Continued in Chapter 5: Fruit of Life**

There is a woman standing on Privet Drive. The wards don't stop her. The blood protection doesn't prevent her. But whether this is because her blood made the protection possible, or because she currently lacks said blood, is unclear.

* * *

 **Endnotes:**

Petunia seemed very bitter that her parents continued to accept Lily as a witch, so I assume Petunia has cut them out of her life as well. Probably why Marge was the only relative who visited.

I am assuming that Dedalus Diggle, later revealed as a member of the Order of the Phoenix, did not just coincidentally run into Harry at a store. Rather, it's far more likely that he was specifically looking for Harry, or looking out for him.

Said this many times, but it's amazing Harry didn't have more lasting emotional damage from the Dursleys. Here, he does, and is slow to trust as a result. Beyond the three "people" mentioned. Which will soon be very important.

As I said, the Astute business cards will vary in appearance and purpose. Notice that Hera's hid her public identity and family, while Sahara's proudly states hers.

I didn't want every Obscurus to be exactly the same, that would be too convenient. But I also didn't want to get too far away from the theme of a black, smoke-like substance, especially not for Credence. We don't get much information on Ariana, only the nature of the incidents that killed her mother and then herself. So something tied to an explosion seemed suitable. Sahara gets a desert theme, with an animal, so naturally Newt was the best one to handle that.


	5. Fruit of Life

Notes: Now we get to chapter that I've been imagining since I first came up with the story's title. And it's a good idea to keep in mind that the title can be interpreted in more than one way.

* * *

 **Harry Potter and the Inferi Complex**  
 **A Fantastic Beasts/Harry Potter Crossover by**  
 **Nate Grey (xman0123-at-aol-dot-com)**  
 **Chapter 5: Fruit of Life**

* * *

 **THEN**

In the background, he could hear two men talking. A part of him that he would have rather not acknowledged heard their voices, even knew their names.

Rubeus Hagrid.

Sirius Black.

He didn't care, not just then.

All he cared about was the ruined house, and the two lives that had been lost within.

"It's not right," he whispered, a phrase that would become his mantra for the next several years. No, nothing would be right, not in his life or little Harry's. But he would protect Harry as best he could, and they would live on together.

They were not going to die. They were not going to lose. They would live.

For their parents.

He felt the unmistakable pull that meant Harry was moving away from him, and glanced over his shoulder. Black was already gone, and Hagrid was mounting a large motorcycle. It was time to go.

He looked at the house one last time.

"I won't forget you. Not ever. You should be here with us. If I had any say in it, you would still be here." He paused, then turned away. "Goodbye... Mother, Father. I'll look after Harry for you." With that, the mysterious figure who would one day be named Bones went to meet his fate.

* * *

 **NOW**

The old man that appeared abruptly in the graveyard behind St. Jerome's Church was in a hurry. Even hindered by his rather noticable limp and wooden leg as he was, he moved faster than most would have expected. The long staff he carried helped considerably, but still, he moved with the energy and urgency of a much younger, far less scarred man.

Fortunately, he didn't have to go very far to find what he was looking for.

Unfortunately, what he found could mean nothing good.

He drew a small, black orb from his robes and pressed his thumb hard against the smooth surface. After a few seconds, the orb turned dark blue, and a voice floated from it.

"Go ahead, Alastor."

Alastor Moody coughed once before speaking. "Responded to a disturbance in the wards at Godric's Hollow. Standing over the graves of the Potters, Albus. It's not good."

"Tell me what you've found."

"They're empty."

After a very long pause, Albus responded calmly, "Please explain."

"Dirt's missing. Caskets are exposed, but still in the ground where they should be. Look to have been blown open from the inside." Moody paused to lower himself to a squat, peering into the nearest grave. "Wait. Got something."

"Yes?"

Moody slowly dragged his fingers along the edge of the open grave. "Trouble, Albus. Big trouble. This grave was dug out with an Irrigation Charm. And not just anybody's. In all my years, I never saw one as crisp as Lily's. That girl could punch a perfect hole through a spinning Galleon from the other side of a room."

"You are suggesting that Lily Potter climbed out of her own grave, Alastor?"

"Yeah," Moody growled. "And I'm betting that once I examine the other grave, it'll be a Tunneling Charm worthy of only James." He paused. "You know what this must mean, Albus. Even if you don't want to say it, I will. Somebody has turned the Potters into Inferi. That alone would be bad enough. But somehow, these Inferi are capable of using the same spells the Potters were known for, in exactly the same way they were known for them. That makes these specialized Inferi, because I never met one that needed anything other than speed and brute strength to be deadly."

"I am _not_ prepared to make that assumption yet, Alastor," Albus said, though he sounded nowhere near as calm now.

"Oh? And why not?"

"Because we both know that Inferi lack one of the major components required for performing magic at all: life. It's why they only use their physical strength. Because they no longer possess the mental or spiritual capacity to cast spells."

"Call it what you want, Albus. But I'd bet anything that the Potters cast these spells. And when I find the soulless piece of filth that did this to them, he will beg for death."

"Alastor," Albus said slowly. "There is something you need to know. Please finish investigating there, and then come immediately to Hogwarts. After I have shared... certain relevant details, I will ask you to continue looking into this matter."

"Sure." Moody stowed the orb back inside his robes. He wasn't one for prayers, but if he had been, he would have said one now. Muttering his pardon to the soul of Lily Potter, he dropped down into her grave to get a closer look.

* * *

The exact combination of various magical wards protecting Number Four, Privet Drive was known only to Albus Dumbledore. They were the collective work of several wizards and witches, all who had contributed with the understanding that their ignorance of the other measures provided an extra layer of security.

But even the brilliance of Dumbledore had been presented with an obstacle when setting up the protection. To put it simply, there was no way to protect Harry from both the magical forces that meant him harm, and the harm that the Dursleys would surely inflict upon him.

Dumbledore could have placed a ward that prevented entry to anyone or anything with ill intent directed at Harry, but that would mean the Dursleys could not live there. Likewise, if a ward prevented physical violence directed at Harry, that left him vulnerable to magical harm. In the end, Dumbledore decided that magical harm was the greatest threat. After all, it wasn't Muggles who would be seeking Harry's life.

At the same time, Dumbledore was in no way ignorant of what Harry might suffer while living with the Dursleys. It was callous to admit, but if there was any reason he was quite glad that the Potters were dead, it was so he would not have to explain his actions concerning their son to them. And neither would the Dursleys.

All of which presented quite the interesting set of circumstances, on this particular evening.

There was a woman standing on the sidewalk in front of Number Four, Privet Drive.

Or at least a distinctly woman-shaped being.

She was staring at the house, standing as still as a statue. She did not even appear to be breathing.

Her body was not moving, but her mind was certainly not at a standstill. She was carefully considering everything she had learned in the past few hours, and putting it all together in a series of surprisingly accurate assumptions.

She could sense that Harry was in the house.

She knew that the Dursleys lived there. The address hadn't changed.

She could logically conclude that someone had placed Harry there because the Dursleys were, technically, family. But whoever did so had done this, either having no idea how the Dursleys felt about the Potters, or knowingly did it in direct defiance of what the Potters would have wanted for Harry. And even if they hadn't known, assuming they bothered to observe at all, it should have been immediately obvious what a huge mistake they'd made.

She knew the Potters had many friends and comrades who would have gladly taken Harry in, even under the worst circumstances. They had all been bypassed in favor of this solution, if it could even be called that.

She could practically smell Dumbledore's plotting in this, but this would have to be the very first time where she would have seriously questioned his sanity to his face.

She knew there had to be wards. If there weren't, she would no doubt be staring at a blackened crater in the ground instead of a house. But she had no idea exactly what these wards would prevent. And, to be quite honest, she was not entirely sure if they would prevent her, for reasons best left alone for the moment.

Perhaps it is easy to imagine that she might have taken a deep breath before venturing forward. It would certainly have to be imagined, as she ventured forward without breathing in any way. She paused at the edge of the yard, unable to see the wards, but trusting they were there.

She slowly lifted a foot, and put her toes in the yard.

There was no resistance.

Carefully, she put her foot down firmly, and after a long pause, brought the other to join it.

Again, there was no resistance.

She was in.

She smiled. Or tried to. She'd been practicing, but it was still a little tricky.

What she might have guessed, but couldn't have known for sure without being told, was that the center-most ward was based on blood protection. This meant that Harry, and by extension the Dursleys, were protected against magical harm, most especially when they were physically in their home.

So the following examples were certainly applicable.

 _Example A_ : If there had been an attack on the home by a Dark wizard controlling an Inferi army, it would have failed. That would have certainly fallen under the heading of magical harm. There had never been a case of an Inferius that wasn't intended to harm something, after all.

 _Example B_ : If the woman striding across the yard had been an Inferius, surely she would have been prevented from doing so. Unless:

 _Instance 1_ : She was an extremely unique Inferius, the very first that was both not Dark in nature, and not intended chiefly to cause harm.

 _Instance 2_ : She was, or had once been, the very person whose sacrifice made the blood protection possible. Even if she certainly no longer had any such blood in her.

 _Instance 3_ : She was the product of an even rarer Instance were both Instances 1 and 2 were true.

To put it even more simply: Lily Potter, or at least her reanimated body, was currently standing at the front door of the Dursley home, preparing to knock. She was not in a good mood, already having a very good idea of what would greet her. But some small part of her was thinking: perhaps.

Perhaps Petunia would not have vented her hateful feelings for Lily and James on Harry.

Perhaps Petunia had matured and put her old grudge away.

Perhaps Petunia would realize how lucky she was, to have a second child, one that she hadn't had to go through the pains of childbirth to obtain.

Perhaps Petunia had finally seen that pretending she had no sister, and that sister being tragically murdered, were two very different things. Perhaps that had driven her to make up with their parents.

Perhaps things had changed for the better.

Perhaps they had only gotten worse.

She decided. Expect the worst. That way, anything else would be an improvement.

There was just one problem with her plan. She hadn't imagined how far beyond her definition of "worst" that the reality might be. Because a small part of her was still thinking, "Petunia is my sister. She would never..."

* * *

Once he was certain that all the Dementors had passed beyond their range to influence him in his cell, Sirius Black became a man once more.

In truth, it probably would have been easier, to simply remain in dog form the entire time. It would have given him some constant protection from the influence of the Dementors, and the rats that occasionally wandered into his cell were slightly more appetizing that way. Unfortunately, the rare wizard or witch who visited would either think Sirius had escaped, or realize that he was an unregistered Animagus.

As for the Dementors, even after years in their care, Sirius could not really say exactly what they thought. What he was certain of was that things that concerned wizardkind, did not concern them. They cared primarily about their food source, and little else. He would never need to worry about a Dementor revealing his handy trick to a wizard. They simply didn't think that way.

If Dementors were capable of human speech, and Cornelius Fudge himself asked why Sirius wasn't impacted by his stay in Azkaban as others were, the honest response would be, "We don't know." Dementors were blind, so they would only know that Sirius was not quite as good a meal as other prisoners were. His Animagus form was harder to feed from. But so long as they had those other prisoners to feed on, it would never occur to them to explain the difficulty with Sirius to Fudge, and he certainly didn't ask for details on how they fed.

So Sirius was safe, or as safe as he could be, surrounded by Dementors and criminals and Death Eaters and madmen. But this only meant he had plenty of time to consider his situation. And more than anything, Sirius was filled with regret.

He had never, would never have betrayed the Potters. James had been like a brother to him. And while Sirius could admit he'd had a bit of a crush on Lily, that was true of most boys, and some girls, who had known her at school. But he could see that she and James were meant for each other. And Sirius could also admit that she never would have been happy with him, not for long. She would have been a conquest for him, and not the only one, and it would have ruined their friendship.

They had danced together, at her wedding, and Lily had kissed his cheek and thanked him, for not treating her that way, and for many other things beside that. He would never have betrayed the happiness he felt in that moment, handing her back to James and blinking away tears.

She had thanked him, the one who'd probably gotten James in almost as much trouble as James got himself in. Thanked him, like he was worthy of her gratitude.

And this was how he repaid her. Failing to avenge her and James. Failing to look after Harry. Failing to be anything but a black mark on their name.

And the worst of it was, he had done all of that by not doing anything. He wasn't even guilty of the worst that everyone thought he was! He wasn't a traitor, or a murderer, or a Death Eater. He was just a failure.

If a Dementor had come by in that moment, Sirius would have proven to be a poor meal. He would always carry his happy memories of his closest friends, but more and more, he found himself focusing on thoughts that were not happy at all. Nor did much that he thought about lead to happiness. Escaping this place, so he could avenge the Potters and bring Peter Pettigrew to justice, possibly even clear his name. Perhaps all of that should have made Sirius happy, but it wouldn't erase his failure to keep his friends safe. It would only make his world slightly less dark. By now, even Remus probably thought he was a traitor. The best Sirius could hope for was being allowed a nice, quiet place to lay down and die. And even assuming that would reunite him with James and Lily, he could not say for certain that the reunion would be a happy one.

But it wasn't a Dementor that came by in that moment at all.

It was a stag. A ghostly white stag, with thick moss on its broken antlers, accompanied by a stench of rotting flesh so powerful that Sirius noticed it before he saw the creature itself.

Sirius gaped at the creature, and it stared back at him, not even breathing.

For several seconds, nothing happened.

It was insane. It made no sense. It was impossible. And yet, Sirius swallowed hard, licked his dry lips, and said the absolute first mad thing that occurred to him.

"Can't be... Prongs?"

The stag blinked. And then it became James Potter.

"You look like death, Padfoot. And I would know."

Sirius shook his head. "James, you... but you're-"

"Dead. I know. Believe me, I noticed right away."

James was upright, but still clearly dead. Though Sirius had not been at the funeral, he was certain that James was still wearing the suit and robes he'd been buried in. They were deeply stained with soil, as was his unusually pale skin. There was, Sirius noticed and was thankful for, no trace of maggots or exposed bone, like he might have expected. But that only made the visual and accompanying thought even stranger: James was not quite as dead as he should have been, but he was certainly not alive.

"We can stare later," James said. "Let's get you out of here."

Sirius was stunned anew. "You... you're going to help me escape?"

James blinked. "D'you honestly think I believe those stupid things they're saying about you? That Lily would?" He grinned, in the old way that was painful to Sirius. "Come off it, mate. Be Sirius."

Sirius laughed, unable to help himself. It had been so long since he'd heard that. From someone he welcomed it from, anyway.

James grabbed the bars of the cell, and with no real effort that Sirius could see, pulled them apart, until there was just enough space for a large dog to slip through. Which it immediately did.

The dog became Sirius at once. "James. I hate to ask, but after that display of strength... you're an Inferius, aren't you?"

"I'm not entirely sure. Lily and I were discussing it, and she-"

"Lils is back, too?" Sirius whispered in shock.

James grinned. "Yeah, it's great. Well, not this part," he added, gesturing to himself, "but us being together, I mean. Anyway, she's got this theory on what we are now, but she wants to research it first. If nothing else, we've definitely got increased strength, and some other handy things. But we need to get out of here first. Better change, here's a Dementor."

At once, they became a dog and a stag, and each moved to opposite sides of the corridor. The approaching Dementor paused between them, and the dog shuddered as it felt the familiar hopeless sensation blanket it. The feeling passed quickly, however, and the Dementor moved on.

James changed back first. "Right, better get moving."

"Not that I don't appreciate this, but do you even have a plan, or are you just making it up as you go again?" Sirius asked with a grin.

"Sure, I have a plan. When we reach the shore, I'll become a stag, you hop on my back, and I'll swim for it."

Sirius stared. "Are you mad? You can't swim that distance with me on your back!"

James coughed. "No, _you_ can't. _I'm_ dead, so I don't get tired. I know for a fact that I can swim that distance, how d'you think I got here in the first place?"

"Stags can swim? That far?"

James shrugged. "No idea. Mine can, though. Magic and all, I suppose."

Sirius shook his head. "Can it really be that simple?"

"If I'm being honest? I don't think there's anything simple at all about how I got this way." James frowned. "Lily won't say why, but she's got a very bad feeling about Harry. Sent me to get you while she looked for him. If things go badly, thought it might be a good idea to have at least one clearly living relative around."

"Yes, his clearly living, criminal, traitor, murderous godfather will be a real comfort," Sirius snorted.

James raised his eyebrows. "Compared to his clearly unliving, absent parents, I wouldn't sell yourself short just yet."

* * *

The door opened.

"Hi, Petunia."

There was a strangled squawk, and then: " _Lily_."

It would have been polite, to ask permission to come in, or wait for it to be extended. But Lily had known Petunia for a long time. If there were only two things that could be depended on about the current situation, it was these things.

First, Petunia Dursley would never invite a dead person into her home.

Second, Petunia Dursley would never invite a dripping wet dead person into her home. And Lily was still dripping wet from her journey. Actually, even before it.

So Lily had to be forgiven for simply pushing her way into the Dursley home. Especially considering that, had she used every bit of her Inferi strength to do so, she would have seriously harmed or killed Petunia in the process. As it was, Petunia only stumbled a bit, and Lily made no move to help her, knowing it would be rejected and not feeling particularly helpful at the moment.

"I've come for Harry," Lily said, in case Petunia was wondering. "Where is he?"

Petunia said nothing, though whether she was still in shock or being deliberately unhelpful, Lily had neither time nor inclination to discover. She started for the stairs, intending to search the house from top to bottom, but the padlock on the cupboard door caught her eye, and the presence just beyond it was practically screaming at her in that moment.

No. Surely not.

Faster than Petunia's eyes could follow, Lily launched herself at the cupboard, and with a single, powerful swipe, tore the padlock off the door entirely.

Petunia screamed.

Lily dropped the padlock, slowly pulled the cupboard door open, and found herself staring into a pair of eyes that had once been so like her own, but had now been forever altered in a way she hadn't expected. And yet, the similarities between the boy and his father were obvious. And even if they hadn't been, Lily would have known her son anywhere. His very existence called to her.

And now, so did his magic.

" _Harry_ ," she whispered.

* * *

Since his only meeting with Bones, Harry had been constantly thinking about that fallen, red-haired figure who must have been his mother. That he had never seen her in any pose other than frozen in death had become a constant ache that there was no treatment for.

Until now.

Harry knew at once who the woman standing before him was.

She had red hair. She was in the Dursley home. And Petunia clearly didn't want her there, if the scream was anything to go by. She could be no one else.

Also, distressingly, she was clearly not alive. Harry had no reason to believe the vision Bones had shown him was false, and it explained her total absence in his life thus far. And the woman in front of him simply did not _look_ alive. She was far too pale, and there was a distinctly damp look to all of her that did not seem natural.

And then there was her face. It was pretty enough, even beautiful. But Harry had, for years, dreamed of his parents abruptly showing up to rescue him. They would say that news of their deaths had all been a huge misunderstanding. And in all of those dreams, his mother, faceless as she had been, was smiling. But the woman in front of Harry wasn't smiling.

Although she was clearly trying to, but couldn't, as if she could no longer, because she'd forgotten how to.

Maybe dead people didn't need to smile.

"Mum?" Harry whispered after she said his name.

There it was again, that lip twitch that they both wanted so much to be a smile.

"Harry," she said again, and there was no mistaking the caress in her tone. She wanted to hug him. Harry wanted it, too. Or would have, if she were alive. She wasn't. But he'd never even seen his mother standing upright, and here she was doing that, and it was hardly a time to be picky.

So Harry stepped forward, and slowly put his arms around his dead mother.

It was, he decided later, rather like hugging a wet tree. There was not much give in her body. She was wet, but oddly clean. Or at least gave that impression. But after a moment, it hit him: the odor. Beneath the dampness, the apparent clean, there a powerful odor. He did not want to call it a stench: this was his mother, after all. But it told him, unmistakably, that this woman was dead. This was how dead people would smell, if they got up, started moving around, and perhaps threw on a bit of perfume occasionally. It could only do so much.

When he felt the cold hand on the back of his head, stroking but not pressing, Harry knew. She was aware of the odor, too, and didn't want him to have to smell it. It made him love her even more, and he pressed his face into her, inhaling, odor and all.

It was horrible. But it was better than nothing and the lies of the Dursleys. It was his mother.

"Mum," he whispered, his voice cracking. "You're dead."

"Yes," she agreed.

"But you're here."

"Yes."

"For me?"

"Yes."

After a pause, he asked, "Why?" Not because he didn't know or suspect, but because he needed more than one-word answers.

"You're my baby." She hesitantly trailed her fingers up his cheek, and her lips twitched when, instead of flinching away, he smiled at her. "Or you were. So big, now. But you're my son. I came for you. I came back for you."

"Then we're leaving?" Harry asked, unable to keep the hope out of his voice. "Together?"

"Yes."

He didn't ask where they were going. He didn't care. They could be moving into the dog park down the street, and Harry would have jumped at the chance. He would happily live on the street with his dead mother, rather than stay a minute more with the Dursleys in their house.

She was touching him constantly, her fingers trailing over his clothing and skin. Harry didn't mind. Until her fingers stopped on the spot on his arm where Mauler had bitten him most recently.

"Harry? What's this?"

Harry looked into her face, knowing what she wanted to hear, knowing what she dreaded to hear, but unable to lie to his mother, who he had only known for a few minutes. So he told her the truth.

Her lips weren't twitching anymore. And Harry learned that while dead people apparently didn't need to smile, they did know how to do the opposite. And his mother looked to be an expert. She didn't say anything or move, but he could still easily tell: the terms "anger" or "fury"... they weren't enough to describe the dark, suffocating emotion radiating from her.

He knew, then. She was going to kill the Dursleys. Whether it was because she was that enraged, or because dead people weren't particularly sensitive about increasing their numbers, or because the Dursleys deserved it, Harry wasn't sure. But he also suspected, or at least hoped, that if he had asked his mother to spare them, she would have. For him.

But Harry didn't ask.

After a long moment, perhaps even giving him a chance to stop her, his mother handed him a brown bag, about the size of a standard shopping bag. "Put everything you want to take with you in there. It's bigger on the inside than it looks."

Harry started to tell her that it was probably much too big, then. He changed his mind, nodded, and turned away to start putting the few belongings he wished to take into the bag.

"Harry?" she whispered.

He didn't turn around. "Yes, Mum?"

Her hand was on his head again. "I love you."

He reached up and took her hand in his. Then he brought her hand around to his face, and kissed the back of her hand quickly. "I love you, too."

She squeezed his hand, then slipped away.

Harry heard her footsteps leaving the cupboard. Without really thinking about it, he reached out and closed the door, for what would surely be the last time.

* * *

When Harry opened the cupboard door ten minutes later, his mother was there. She'd been there for a while.

Her hands were behind her back.

Harry stared up at her. "Show me?"

She hesitated.

"Please, Mum." This was important.

Slowly, she brought her hands into view. There was blood on them both.

"Was it fast?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Did they suffer?"

"No. I wanted them to, but I thought any noise might disturb you."

Harry hadn't actually heard anything through the door, and he'd been listening. There weren't even any telltale heavy thumps. He was tempted to ask exactly how she'd done it, but decided against it. "Where are they?"

"Master bedroom."

"Can we leave now?"

"Yes."

Harry transferred the bag, not even close to being full, to his left hand. Then he held out his right hand. "I want to hold your hand."

She stared at him. "Harry, I'm not-"

"My blood was on their hands. Now theirs is on yours. I'll manage."

Slowly, she took his hand. He gripped hers tightly in return.

"Are you sure this is okay?" she asked.

"Hiding you from me, like you were something dirty, wasn't okay," he said firmly. "Even if I didn't hate them, I never loved them. And if they loved me, they had a funny way of showing it. Only, I never laughed."

"I'm sorry I wasn't here for you, Harry."

"I never blamed you, Mum. And I never will." He smiled at her. "We should go out the back door."

They paused in the kitchen long enough for Harry to take some food. More than the Dursleys had ever given him at once, but surely no more than Dudley had ever eaten in one sitting. At the thought of his cousin, Harry felt a slight pang of regret. Maybe Dudley would have grown out of his meanness, one day. Once he'd lived apart from his parents and experienced enough, who knew? But now? Nothing. It was a shame. But Harry decided that he could live with that regret.

He took one last look around the kitchen, and then followed his mother out of the house. And then he saw it: the innermost dome over the house, still red, was fading. It might last minutes, or hours, but it was definitely breaking down. Harry had no idea what it was for, but he suspected it no longer mattered, for him or the Dursleys.

He was walking away from Number Four, Privet Drive forever, and he was never looking back.

* * *

 _from The New Astute's Handbook, by Opan Dor_

 _Taming the Obscurus_

 _One of the greatest challenges every Astute will face is mastering their Obscurus._

 _The truth is simple to state, but harder to accept: the Obscurus is part of the Astute, because every Astute was once an Obscurial. They cannot master it until they understand and agree that it will always be a part of them._

 _Increasing the struggle are the varied forms that the Obscurus takes. They are almost always destructive, and seem especially suited for their violent nature._

 _I have never seen a record of an Obscurial's Obscurus that was peaceful. Has one ever existed? I cannot say for certain. But the day I finally admitted to myself that I was glad to be an Astute, Obscurus and all, was the day that mine finally bent to my will._

 _Perhaps it would be simpler, if an Obscurus took a more acceptable form. A friendly smile, a mother's warm touch. But I think it is our destiny, to go to war and save our comrades. And so the Obscurus prepares us, first as an obstacle, and then as an ally._

 _The road is long and rough, young Astute. There will be much pain. But when you reach the end, you will find yourself with an ally who will always fight for you and never leave you. Your one-time tormentor will become a powerful weapon for your use._

 _But the greater weapon? The assurance that you will never again suffer the way you once did._

* * *

 **Continued in Chapter 6: Reunions**

The Potter family gathers. Sahara goes home.

* * *

 **Endnotes:**

I suspect the wards on Privet Drive are more complicated, but for the purposes of the story, I'm going with this setup. Dumbledore flat out states he knew what Harry was in for by bringing him there, so even in canon, the wards don't protect Harry from the Dursleys.

I did not want to reanimate the Potters as standard Inferi, that would have just been... brutal. Instead, I wanted a specialized form that was Inferi-based, so there could be no denying their current state, but still allowed for specific things that are never seen in Inferi. And yes, there actually is a reason for that.

I will be revisiting how the Dursleys died in greater detail next time, in case anyone is interested. Available evidence suggests there are certain ways Inferi usually kill, and this is not a usual case.

I promise this is NOT the reason why my version of Lily can't smile, but in the first film, when Lily smiles at Harry from the Mirror, I always found it to be eerie. Certainly not the type of smile I expected from her. The same is true in the final film, but in that case, I suspect the eeriness was on purpose. So the lesson is, Lily should only smile in films when the representation of her is clearly still alive. Otherwise, it looks creepy. Which is saying something, because Bellatrix has some positively inviting smiles, which... um, best not get into that now.


	6. Reunions

**Harry Potter and the Inferi Complex**  
 **A Fantastic Beasts/Harry Potter Crossover by**  
 **Nate Grey (xman0123-at-aol-dot-com)**  
 **Chapter 6: Reunions**

* * *

 **NOW**

As if Sirius Black needed more reminders that his dear friend, James Potter, was now dead - well, undead - their final destination was a graveyard. The very same graveyard where James and Lily had been buried, apparently. There were a couple of reasons why this was perhaps not the best idea, but Sirius hadn't complained for one reason only.

He was going to finally meet Harry. And if Harry hadn't complained about the graveyard, Sirius could hardly do so. And, too, if James and Lily were as powerful as he thought they were, it would take at least a whole team of Hit Wizards to bring them both down. Which wasn't too likely, even if Sirius's escape had already been discovered. Fighting magic-capable Inferi wasn't something even Hit Wizards were trained for, because magic-capable Inferi weren't routine at all. Sirius hadn't even known they were possible. Plus, Sirius did not think this graveyard was one of the more likely places he would be suspected to hide. In part because he wouldn't. There was no food, for one thing. So not even sentimental reasons would have driven him immediately to James and Lily's grave-site, at least not so soon after his escape.

When asked, James could only say that he and Lily had agreed to meet back at the graveyard, at least temporarily. The immediate goal was to liberate Harry and Sirius from their respective situations, and beyond that, Sirius had no idea what they had planned. Not that he was complaining. Sirius doubted he had escaped the Dementors for good, but it was nice not to have them so close for once.

They stopped only once: Sirius grabbed some food, while James got clothes for Sirius. It was all stolen, but Sirius was beyond caring. He would have worn negligee, if it got him out of his prison uniform. And thanks to prison, decent food had assumed a great deal more importance in his life than it had previously. James didn't eat anymore, and truly seemed to miss it. He watched Sirius eat with the same wistfulness that Nearly Headless Nick always had.

Any doubts Sirius had momentarily faded, when he first saw Lily and Harry. Harry was seated on the ground between Lily's legs, with his eyes closed. And Lily's arms were wrapped around Harry, her face buried in his hair, as if she feared someone would snatch him away from her.

It wasn't love. Or not just love. It was desperation. People weren't supposed to need each other that much. And while just having the thought made Sirius feel sick with shame, knowing it was true felt so much worse.

Harry spotted them first. A second later, he was out of Lily's arms, running like a thing possessed, and flung himself at James, who laughed and caught him. Harry wasn't laughing, Sirius noticed. He was crying and clinging to James, but not laughing.

Suddenly, Sirius realized that Lily was in front of him, only a few feet away. He hadn't noticed her moving, though he could not say if it was because he'd been distracted, or if she'd just moved that quickly and silently. Seeing her so close summoned that same twist of pleasure and pain in his heart that the sight of James had. Maybe it was different for Harry, because he'd never seen them alive, but Sirius knew exactly what Harry was missing out on, seeing his parents this way. As happy as Sirius was to have them again... this wasn't right. Not even close.

"Sirius," Lily said in a soft yet eerie parody of her voice.

Sirius forced himself to smile. "Hey, Lils. You..." He couldn't bring himself to comment on her looks, or tell her it was good to see her. He thought she would hear the lies in his tone. He finally settled on, "Thank you. For still believing in me."

She nodded. There was no smile. Sirius had expected one. James could still smile, at least. It wasn't quite the same, but he could. Lily apparently hadn't gotten that far along. Maybe she wasn't going to. Sirius wasn't even sure he wanted her to. To see her smile the way she once had, as she was now... he couldn't think of a worse torture just then.

Thankfully, he was saved the trouble of trying to find a conversation piece.

"Come and meet your godson, Sirius."

Sirius stepped forward, eyes on Harry, who had stopped crying and was watching him curiously. No more dwelling on the way things used to be, Sirius decided. It was time for new beginnings, and hopefully, doing things right this time around. And with that, he stretched out his hand, shook Harry's, and thought, for the first time in a long time, that maybe he wasn't quite as cursed as he felt.

* * *

Alastor Moody was carefully inspecting the front lawn of Number Four, Privet Drive when, abruptly, he was no longer alone. Someone was standing beside him, and if he hadn't been expecting her, it would have been very hard to ignore his first instinct, which was to curse anyone who got that close.

"Hello, Mr. Moody."

He turned slowly to face her and nodded gruffly. "That was fast, Ariana."

She nodded. "Yes. I assumed we won't have much time here."

"Right." He paused, shifted uncomfortably, then asked, "Did the wards I threw up a few minutes ago even-?"

"No." Ariana tilted her head slightly. "Weaving isn't quite based on the same principles as Apparition. So long as I can clearly picture the target - you, in this case - and have sufficient power and knowledge, I can bypass most wards without disturbing them. It isn't universal among Astutes, but I had an excellent teacher, and Weaving was his specialty."

"I see." Moody turned back to the yard. "Tell you what I think happened here, based on what Albus and I have found so far." He tapped the bottom of his staff against the ground, instantly bringing up a small, glowing blueprint of the entire house. As he pointed at it, a blue spot appeared on the edge of the blueprint. "An Inferius, most likely one of Harry Potter's parents, arrived here. The wards were failing when I got here, but they should have been working then. Inferius was allowed in by the wards, which shouldn't have been possible. Anyway, it's not the first one I've tracked, and I've seen a similar pattern before. Inferi don't care about footprints, makes it easy to track theirs. This one was even easier, as it was dripping wet, and the water it left was distinctive."

"In what way?" Ariana asked.

Moody shrugged. "Never seen any water, anywhere, like it. Ever. No basis for comparison." He nodded to the blueprint, and the blue spot moved into the house. "Inferius is allowed into the house. Goes straight to a locked cupboard where... well, the Muggles stashed Potter in there, for most of his life, by the look of it. Inferius breaks the padlock. And here it gets tricky, because if an Inferius had hurt Potter, it would be obvious. Seems more like it wanted to let him out. Inferius proceeds upstairs, where the Muggles are hiding in a bedroom, and kills all three the same way. A single blow to the head, instant death. Very strange."

Ariana nodded. "Because unless otherwise directed, Inferi usually tear their victims apart, as there are usually several Inferi, and in their eagerness to destroy a target, they rip it into pieces trying to be the one who completes the task first. And even when there is only one Inferius, it will attack until it is certain that there is no way for the target to still be alive. A single killing blow is virtually unheard of."

"You deal with Inferi often?" Moody grunted, impressed.

Ariana shook her head. "Never. But something told me to read up on them."

"Huh." Moody gestured, and the blue spot moved again. "Inferius goes back downstairs, and it gets tricky again. Potter was still in the house. If he had been afraid or running, that would be easy to tell. But he took time to raid the kitchen."

"He wasn't afraid," Ariana said softly. "He's probably been wishing his parents would come back for him for years." She paused and sighed. "He'd be happy, if one did. He'd go with them, not run away from them."

Moody stared at her for a few seconds, then coughed and shook his head. "Inferius and Potter leave through the back door. Explains the failing wards: all the living people the wards were meant to protect, either no longer consider this place home, or are dead. Wards start to collapse, since they have no reason to exist anymore."

"Was there anything unusual about the faces on the bodies?" Ariana asked.

"No. Wasn't really focused on them, though," Moody replied. "Blows all landed on the rear or top of the head. Why?"

"I'll show you."

They went into the house and up to the bedroom. The Dursleys were still dead on the floor. Moody either hadn't moved the bodies, or had returned them to the original positions they fell in, Ariana could tell. But he was right, there was nothing unusual about the faces, which wasn't entirely unexpected.

"Harry is an Obscurial, or was not long ago," Ariana explained. "Either way, he still has an Obscurus. I thought that this Inferius might also be his Obscurus. But it can't be. An Obscurus, no matter how varied its method of killing is, always leaves its mark on the victim's face. Gives it a bloated, grayish appearance. Extremely distinctive. That didn't happen here. Which raises more questions than it answers. Either Harry wasn't the one who reanimated his parents, or he did so in a way that I can't explain. And it still doesn't tell us what form his Obscurus has taken."

"What do you recommend?" Moody asked.

"Same thing you do, I expect: we need to find him immediately. I doubt he's in any danger from the Inferius. But there are dangers he can't possibly know about, having been with Muggles all this time. At the same time, things here... we shouldn't just leave them this way."

"Got a plan," Moody offered. "Not pretty, but it won't reveal that the Muggles were murdered." When Ariana nodded, he went on: "Gas explosion. Take out the entire house, Muggles with it. Not my first brush with arson, I admit."

Ariana frowned. "I suppose we each have our areas of specialty." She looked as if she wanted to say more, but held back.

"Agreed. Finding Potter is yours. Don't mind admitting I'm feeling out of sorts on this one. Never thought I'd see the day when an Inferius didn't behave like one."

"I think," Ariana said slowly, "you will find that the best thing to assume, when dealing with Obscurials, is that they acknowledge and follow only rules of their own design."

* * *

Newt Scamander had barely secured the sixth Fwooper in its soundproofed birdcage when Zephyrus emerged from the bushes with the seventh, suspended above his hand in a constantly swirling barrier of wispy, black wind.

"You're quite good at this," Newt observed as he took the bird and placed it in another cage.

"It's much easier than catching Obscurials," Zephyrus admitted. "Not quite as rewarding to me, but I suppose that depends on your perspective." He glanced at Sahara, who was happily playing with a frog she'd found.

"Not that it isn't lovely to see her, but I get the impression that this visit wasn't exactly authorized?"

Zephyrus considered how best to answer that. "I was authorized to follow her, and she wanted to see you. I couldn't let her go alone."

"Your loyalty is commendable," Newt said with a smile. "I can see why she's fond of you."

Zephyrus shrugged. "Loyalty to people worthy of it isn't hard."

"I pray that remains true for you, then." Newt turned his head and whistled sharply.

Sahara hurried over, carrying her frog friend. "Yes, Newt?"

Newt lifted the frog out of her hands. "What did you do?" he asked sternly.

Sahara winced. "My job," she said stubbornly.

"I thought your job was to stay inside until you proved ready. I received a letter when you reached Grade 2. I'm still waiting on the one that says you are Grade 1, and thus able to leave on assignments. Am I going to get that letter anytime soon, Sahara?"

"Don't be mad," Sahara whispered.

"I am not mad. I am disappointed. There is a world of difference. I would be mad if you made an honest mistake. I am disappointed that you knowingly ignored the rules."

Sahara shook her head. "I had to! Harry _needed_ me!"

Newt blinked. "Who is Harry?"

"Harry Potter," Zephyrus said simply.

Newt stared at him. "Surely you don't mean-?"

"The same."

Newt turned back to Sahara. "And it didn't occur to you to notify Merrily or Ariana instead?"

Sahara pouted. "They were busy. Harry needed help right then."

"Help that you may not be qualified to give, perhaps."

Sahara frowned at him. " _You_ weren't qualified when you helped me."

"Very true," Newt admitted. "But, being modest, I was quite capable despite that. At the very least, you should have asked for help. Demanded it, if it came to that. That, I could have encouraged. You didn't handle this well, Sahara, even though you meant well."

"I _won't_ apologize," Sahara insisted. "Harry needed a friend."

"I don't doubt that. But he may have needed more than that. Did you give him a way to seek more information? Tell him who, other than you, he may need to contact? Warn him to be careful of possible risks following a Refinement?"

Sahara frowned. "Not exactly. But I told him that he could call me whenever he needed to!"

"And has he?" Newt asked.

"Not yet," she admitted uneasily.

"Did you give him a card?"

Sahara pouted at him. "Of course I did! How would he call me if I hadn't left him a way to do it?"

Newt sighed. "And did you explain how he can contact you?"

Her face fell. "No. But it's really easy! I'm sure if he wanted me, I'd know by now!"

Newt turned to Zephyrus. "How would you compare her handling of Harry to the way Ariana introduced herself to you?"

Zephyrus took a very long time to answer, which was an answer in itself. "Ariana answered all of my questions, and I had many. But I was also ready to believe in something new. Harry was not. I would not have sent Sahara to him." He paused. "And yet, if she had been her who was sent to me when I was nine? I would have gone with her even faster than I did Ariana. Because she would have been like Modesty was then, only happier, and Modesty and I had always been close."

"But would you have sent Sahara to Harry?" Newt asked.

"No. He is too important. I would have sent our most experienced Astute. Once he was recruited, however, that would be the time for him to meet Sahara."

"I won't say I'm sorry!" Sahara shouted.

"I never asked you to," Newt pointed out. "I only want you to learn from this. So that next time there is an Obscurial in need, perhaps you will be sent out, rather than resorting to sneaking out on your own."

Sahara sulked a bit, but didn't argue.

"I believe we promised that you would show me what you've learned," Newt said. "Are you ready to do that now?"

Without a word, Sahara vanished, and re-appeared three seconds later, tugging Ariana by the hand.

"This is Weaving," Sahara muttered.

Ariana eyed Sahara curiously. "Why are you so moody?" And then, as if she'd just recalled, "You're in trouble, you know."

Sahara frowned at her. "Then I have something else to be moody about. Great."

"I was busy, by the way. You shouldn't have just showed up and grabbed me."

"If I'm already in trouble, what's the difference?"

Ariana frowned. "This isn't like you, Sahara. What's the matter?"

"Haven't you heard? No one wants me to be me anymore."

"Didn't say that," Newt disagreed.

"Might as well have," Sahara muttered.

Ariana was able to guess what happened fairly quickly. "I'm guessing Newt wasn't as happy to see you as you'd hoped?"

"That is definitely not accurate," Newt protested.

"If we're going to keep up this game of pretending not to like people we obviously do," Zephyrus cut in, "then I'd rather not play, and would like to leave now."

"That's convenient, since I have a task especially suited for you," Ariana said. "Harry is missing. I need you to find him."

"Harry's in trouble?" Sahara demanded.

"We... don't know that for sure," Ariana admitted. "He might have run away. Or... whatever you call it when you leave home, and your parents know exactly where you are, because they go with you."

"His parents are dead," Newt pointed out reasonably.

"Indeed," Ariana agreed, pointedly not looking at him.

"So... Harry just went out?" Sahara asked uncertainly.

"He gave the very firm impression of never intending to return to his Muggle relatives. I don't blame him, but as he has neglected to keep anyone informed as to his new place of residence, we have lost him. I would like to find him. Immediately."

"I can look," Zephyrus murmured. He reached out to Sahara. "I need your help."

Sahara sniffed. "Thought I couldn't be trusted to help."

"This time, we are actually asking for your help. Please."

"Fine," Sahara grumbled as she walked over to him. "But I'm helping under protest, until someone admits that me meeting Harry was an awesome idea."

"So noted." Zephyrus placed his hands on Sahara's shoulders. "Think only of Harry's voice."

Newt leaned close to Ariana. "What are they doing?" he asked softly.

Ariana leaned in as well. "To put it as simply as I can? Zephyrus is going to extend his winds. They will listen for the sound of Harry's voice. Which he hasn't heard. Which is why he needs Sahara's memory of Harry's voice. She's the only one of us that can recognize it."

"And they can find Harry that way?"

"Assuming he actually speaks? Yes. But if he remains silent, that would be a problem. So let us hope that he is feeling especially chatty. Because in my experience, many of our targets prefer not to do a lot of talking."

"I don't suppose there's much I could do to help out?"

Ariana smiled. "You brought us Sahara. That is helping plenty... despite all current evidence to the contrary."

* * *

Harry was having what he thought of fondly as a weirdly wonderful time of his life. He understood that other people in his position would not be enjoying it anywhere near as much, but he didn't really care. It was all a definite improvement over what he'd gotten for ten years.

His parents were dead. Except that this suddenly no longer prevented them from walking around and talking. Harry had no idea why this was, but again: he didn't care, since it was much better than not having them around at all.

His mother was amazing. She had rescued him from the Dursleys. Also killed them. That part was less amazing, but Harry chose not to dwell on it, much. It was surprisingly easy. And it helped that he was still learning things about his mother. She didn't have a car. What she did have was a giant bubble that she could summon near any body of water. Somehow, there was always air in it, despite her not needing to breathe. Apparently, this was because Harry did need to breathe. So instead of him swimming, he rode in the bubble while his mother swam beside it. She didn't swim like normal people. She just sort of propelled herself with her feet... without moving them at all. Harry didn't understand it, but he also didn't question it. It got them where they needed to go.

Which was a graveyard. This, Harry knew, should have bothered him. Perhaps it would have, if he were alone. Then, it would have constantly reminded him that his parents were dead. Now, it just seemed like a thing dead people would do. If they were still walking around like his parents were, anyway.

Harry had met his fathers. Which was a big deal, because he hadn't known there were two. Or that one was in wizard prison. That should have bothered Harry, but frankly, he just thought it was cool that he had a godfather who was an ex-con. It helped that said godfather wasn't actually guilty of anything, and still met the approval of Harry's parents. He also thought it was sort of funny: all this time the Dursleys had tried to claim Harry was the delinquent in the family. Clearly they hadn't known about Sirius, or they never would have shut up about how Harry was destined to turn out bad, just like his godfather. Harry wouldn't have minded that part so much. Sirius was funny and charming, and it couldn't have been easy, maintaining either in prison.

Then there was Harry's birth father. It was nice, to finally see where Harry got the majority of his looks from. But again, Harry had to get used to the idea that his father was dead, yet not as dead as he should have been. It was odd, but remarkably easy to accept. And Harry knew that was not normal, but nothing about any of this was even approaching normal. Normal had been the Dursleys, and he never wanted any part of it again. Anyway, if there was one thing that stood out about Harry's father, it was that he talked. A lot. More than anyone else present, and even Sirius grew quite chatty once Harry accepted him, so that was saying something. It was even more noticeable because Harry's mother didn't talk much. She would answer questions, but her responses were generally short unless more detail was required. Harry wasn't sure, but he thought she hadn't been this way when alive. It was one of many things he had no real answer for, but didn't want to question.

The questions were really inevitable, though. Harry and Sirius were both alive, and neither had plans to die soon anymore, so they were really going to need the things that living people did: food, water, shelter, those sort of things that maybe dead people didn't have to think about. Except that Harry's parents clearly had thought about them. There was a bag with nothing but clothes in it, all in approximately Harry's size, and another for Sirius. It was a little too obvious that the clothing hadn't been bought. Likewise, there was all sorts of food crammed into another bag, most of which didn't need to be cooked. Again, obviously it hadn't been paid for.

The idea that Harry's parents had stolen for him was more touching than it was worrisome. There had to be a host of legal problems with a dead person trying to reclaim their living identity and any belongings that went with it. And he preferred his parents stealing from random people, to them trying to reclaim things that might have been sold to or inherited by their friends and admirers.

More to the point, Sirius no longer felt the slightest bit of shame in stealing to survive. The Ministry of Magic owed him for time spent in prison while innocent, and since he was unlikely to get even a Sickle out of them, considering he was now an escaped felon, he thought he might as well be guilty of something illegal and worthwhile. Providing for his godson apparently fell into that category.

Plans were already shaping up for the next "shopping trip" that Harry's father and Sirius would be responsible for. The highest priority item would be new glasses for Harry, although he was skeptical as to how they would manage this without him being present. For the time being, Harry was having to make do with the remains of his old glasses. Thankfully, there had not been much reading involved for Harry, although he was getting curious about some of the tombstones, so new glasses would certainly be useful.

When Sirius pulled him aside, Harry was sure it was to inform him that the new glasses would have to wait.

It was not.

"Harry," Sirius said slowly. "There is something I need to talk to you about. It's not... pleasant, exactly, but it is important."

"Okay," Harry said. "What is it?"

"Do you have any idea how it is that your parents came to be... here?"

Harry knew that Sirius was not talking about the graveyard. "No. I haven't really bothered to ask."

"I see." Sirius hesitated. "Harry, do you know what an Inferius is?"

That was an easy question, and Harry felt relieved. "No."

"What about the Dark Arts?"

"No?"

"Necromancy?"

Harry stared. "Wait, isn't that...?"

Sirius leaned forward. "Yes?"

Harry gaped at him. "Sirius, are you saying that you think _I_ did this?"

"Harry, right now I have just as many questions about this as you do. All I know for sure is that I didn't do this. Couldn't do this. Wouldn't know how to do this."

"And you don't think it's the same for me?"

Sirius sighed. "Normally, I would say yes. But I think we agree there was nothing normal about your life before now, Harry. So I would like to say that there's no way you would know how to do this. You just found out about magic, after all, and this would be extremely complicated stuff. But you'd be surprised, what magical children can manage without knowing how they're doing it. Even so, this is-"

"Well beyond that?"

Sirius shrugged. "I can't say I've ever heard of a similar case. I wasn't there for you, and I'm really sorry about that. But being here for you now means taking care of you. And that means knowing what you're capable of, and finding out how your parents came back. You may not understand this, but typically when dead people are raised like this, the intent behind it is not so... positive."

Harry nodded. "I remember Dudley had some computer games with zombies in them."

"Right. So you can understand why it's important we find out how this happened. Because if someone who doesn't have your best interests in mind is responsible, you and I could end up in some real danger."

"But... you don't really think that's what this is, do you?" Harry asked in a pained voice.

"No. No, I don't, Harry." Sirius reached out and squeezed Harry's shoulder. "What I think is that someone wanted very much to save you. And I'd thank them, if I could. But there are things we need to know. If this is permanent. If it's not, how long it will last. If there are conditions we need to be aware of. So when your dad and I go out, I may bring back certain things. I don't want you to think I'm blaming you. I'm just eliminating possibilities."

"I understand." Harry hesitated. "Sirius? If this isn't permanent... would you-?"

"Of course, Harry," Sirius said firmly. "I have no doubt that's why I'm here now. You are never going back to those people if I can help it."

Harry blinked. They should probably have a conversation about the Dursleys soon. Although he wasn't sure how Sirius would react, and to Harry, it almost felt like tattling on his mother. Maybe that conversation could wait. Preferably to the point where it never happened at all.

* * *

 **THEN**

"You're forcing it."

"I have to. He hates being this size."

"You're in control. Tell him how it's going to be."

"It's not that simple! We can't be friends if I'm bossing him around!"

"Your Obscurus is not your friend."

"Maybe yours isn't, but mine is!"

"I had higher expectations for you, Sahara. This is very disappointing."

"I like the other you better. She's nice."

Hera frowned. "I'm here to teach you, not to be nice to you."

"Well, good job, then," Sahara muttered. "I'm definitely learning that you aren't nice."

Hera sighed heavily. "We will try again tomorrow. I hope you are better prepared then." She turned on her heel and vanished.

Sahara sighed and focused her yellow gaze on the Gila monster that currently had its teeth clamped onto her wrist. "I'm sorry, Arahas," she said, stroking its head gently with a finger. "I know she scares you. But it's like I said: she's part of Big Sis Ari, and they're both a part of us now."

Arahas clamped down a little tighter and made a strangled hissing noise.

"Okay, I promise. I'll find somewhere that you can be full-sized soon."

With the promise secured, Arahas immediately let go and crawled into Sahara's pocket.

Sahara flexed her wrist a bit, watching as the holes filled with sand, smoothed over, and then faded into her skin, as if they'd never been there at all. Then she turned around and ran into Ariana, who had her hand outstretched.

"Sorry, I thought you were busy studying," Ariana said, turning the collision into a hug.

"I'm done for now." Sahara clung to Ariana's hand. "Big Sis Ari, do you hate your Obscurus?"

"I'm warily respectful of it. But before that, yes, I did hate and fear it. That isn't true for every Obscurial, though. And if you feel differently about yours, that's okay. There's no need to rush your training. One day, you will master your Obscurus."

"But I don't have to be mean to him, right? I don't think he'd like that much."

Ariana hesitated, since Sahara seemed very worried about this. "Is he mean to you?"

"Not so much now. Other people make him nervous, so then he bites. But it doesn't hurt anymore. And if he just had enough room to stretch, I'm sure he'd be in a better mood. He gets cramped, living in my pocket."

Ariana blinked. "Wait, what does that mean? That sounds like-"

Sahara reached into her pocket and pulled out Arahas. "Say hi, Arahas."

Arahas hissed and ducked into her sleeve.

"You keep your Obscurus in your pocket?" Ariana asked faintly.

Sahara nodded. "Sometimes in my sleeve, or in my hood. Is that bad?"

"No, I just mean... doesn't he ever, you know, vanish? Cease to exist for a while?"

"Not since you touched me," Sahara replied. "Now he's always around. That wasn't supposed to happen?"

"I've never heard of it happening. That doesn't make it wrong, just... new."

"Okay. So no advice?"

"I... well, you're supposed to learn to master your Obscurus. But if he lives in your pocket, especially if he doesn't want to, that makes it seem like you already have. I think."

"Oh." Sahara frowned. "I don't get it."

Ariana shook her head. "That's fine. I don't, either."

* * *

 _from the New Astute's Handbook, by Opan Dor_

 _The Internal Guide_

 _Following a Refinement, a new Astute will need time to adjust to their emerging powers. The assigned instructor will ease this process. But of even greater help will be the internal guide, a mental projection who often takes the shape of the Astute who initiated the Refinement. It is important to differentiate between the Astute and the internal guide, however._

 _The internal guide's only purpose is to assist the Astute in seizing control of their power. It is generally no more a friend than the average Obscurus is before Refinement. Accounts from various Astutes confirm that they almost always prefer the actual person who saved them to the internal guide._

 _But it is still accurate to say that the internal guide, for all the discomfort they may bring, is an excellent source of motivation... if only so the new Astute can pass that first stage and be rid of them._

* * *

 **Continued in Chapter 7: Eaters of Death**

The Potters go shopping in Knockturn Alley. A Death Eater is missed. Bones explains.

* * *

 **Endnotes:**

If it needs to be said, "Lils" is a nickname for Lily, not a typo.

In case I don't actually get around to stating it: Ariana's teacher, Hermes, a.k.a. Opan Dor.

I prefer the visual of Moody using a magical staff to a wand, for some reason.

Ariana's discomfort with Moody has to do with the fact that she is technically the explosion expert of the two, but finds both saying so and handling such work distasteful.

Recall that Sahara's business card did not instruct Harry as to exactly how he could call her... not that he would have done so, anyway.

I at least had a vague idea of what necromancy was long before I became an HP fan, so assume it is not so... exotic that the average person wouldn't recognize the word. Likewise, I assume zombie games get imported.

Arahas is Sahara backwards... no, I couldn't think of a better name.

Sahara isn't bothered by the biting, in part, because she's a sand girl.

Don't know if Gila monsters hiss, I haven't bothered to ask one.

Hera is Sahara's internal guide. Also not so nice.


	7. Eaters of Death

Notes: Bit of a delay, due to holidays and working on some other stories.

* * *

 **Harry Potter and the Inferi Complex**  
 **A Fantastic Beasts/Harry Potter Crossover by**  
 **Nate Grey (xman0123-at-aol-dot-com)**  
 **Chapter 7: Eaters of Death**

* * *

 **NOW**

Borgin and Burkes had played host to a wide variety of customers down through the years, but there was generally one rule of thumb that tended to serve the proprietors best: question the product all you like, but never ask about the customer. For the most part, there was simply no reason to: Borgin and Burkes did not deal in people, so they weren't concerned with the quality of their customers. And, too, with the type of products typically handled in the shop, customers did not appreciate personal questions. Many of them didn't care to be questioned at all, but the shop did have one standard: they preferred to be the ones taking advantage, and not the other way around.

On this night, Mr. Borgin was waiting for a special customer, who had requested a special order. In truth, it was not as if the items had been difficult to obtain. They had actually been in the shop for years, but due to limited interest and the rather specific nature, they had been purchased and then returned several times. Being caught with some of the items would have been difficult for anyone to explain or defend.

Of course, Mr. Borgin fully planned to make it seem as if the items had been very, very difficult to obtain. He already had a fake story prepared, ending with the great lengths he'd personally had to go to, and how that would impact the asking price.

The story slipped completely out of his head when the enormous, heavily scarred man lumbered his way into the shop at the agreed-upon late hour. Mr. Borgin had been in business long enough to know a born and bred killer when he saw one. His own pains would not be a factor at all in this sale. Unless one considered his desire to avoid suffering said pains if the sale went bad.

"Got what I asked for?" the large man grunted as he reached the counter.

"Indeed, sir," Mr. Borgin answered. He brought up the pile of worn books from behind the counter. "A complete set of textbooks from the average final year at Durmstrang. Very difficult to obt-" He paused, and then corrected himself. "Very difficult to master in these parts, I'd wager. Mind you, this set is rather dated, and their curriculum may have changed considerably, but-"

The customer reached into his heavy cloak, pulled out three small jars, and placed them on the counter. "Like we discussed. Inferi parts. Hair, skin, teeth."

"Sir is quite talented, to get his hands on such a rare find in these times," Mr. Borgin commented. "Perhaps I could interest-"

"No. Got what I want." The man swept the books into a small bag, which in no way changed its dimensions to accept the comparatively larger books.

Mr. Borgin's eyes widened. Undetectable Extension Charms were not easy, and also generally weren't legal. He'd used several to conceal certain items at times. If the man in front of him could use such a charm, and was already dealing with Inferi, he was not a wizard to be trifled with. In fact, the sooner the man left the shop, the better. "I certainly hope sir is pleased with his order?"

"Very." The large man turned and lumbered out of the shop without another word.

Mr. Borgin sighed and relaxed slightly, then picked up the jars with a small grin. Technically, making an Inferius was not beyond him, but he would rather not bother. Inferi parts were useful in certain Dark potions, but raising an Inferius just for that was more trouble than it was worth. And disposing of them afterward was even more of a nightmare.

* * *

Although she had never been a fan of shopping in Knockturn Alley, Lily could now appreciate why it was both successful and necessary. It was, for example, perfectly natural for suspicious hooded people to be skulking about Knockturn Alley at all hours of the night, where anywhere else that would have been a cause for concern that might need to be investigated immediately. And even if those hooded persons in Knockturn Alley were up to no good: what could you expect? It was Knockturn Alley. They were certainly in the right place, and in all likelihood, anyone who interfered with them was probably the one truly out of place.

More importantly, no one would look too closely at two pale, hooded people who perhaps didn't smell of roses.

Lily had hesitated about all four of them going out together, but in the end, there was no better solution. Transfiguration was required, which presented two issues.

First, Lily and James had found the second limit of their current forms: they could not alter their bodies. James had retained his skill as an Animagus, but that was the only transformation allowed. Not even Sirius could change them in any way, which hopefully meant no one else would be able to. That provided some protection, but it also meant that they absolutely had to hide their faces.

Second, even without a wand, Sirius was their best resource. With little else to do in prison, he had practiced altering his body, and could manage it with very little effort now. Still, a wand could only help. Unfortunately, Sirius did have some ethical issues with stealing from Ollivander's. Fortunately, there was a wandmaker in Knockturn Alley, or at least a shop that sold wands, though the quality was hardly comparable.

New glasses for Harry were also a concern. The best option would have been for Sirius and Harry to go to Diagon Alley, disguised, in broad daylight. It was pretty much the only way Harry would ever be able to have that experience. But there was always a chance to run into a Ministry official who might be on the lookout for either Sirius, or simply suspicious activity. And without Lily and James nearby to defend, it might not go so well. So James had proposed the dubious ideas of either trying to make glasses for Harry themselves, or enchanting some goggles until they could.

Also a concern was the state of Harry's magic. Lily had been trying to teach him some basic spells, but either because he had no previous training, or because something else was wrong, Harry could not seem to produce so much as a spark. He insisted, however, that he had done magic before, though he hadn't meant to. Lily's hope was that, advanced though they would be, something in the Durmstrang textbooks would click for Harry. But in the meantime, they would "collect" a handful of wands, and hope a few of them produced results for Harry and Sirius both.

So they each had their assigned tasks this evening. Sirius would obtain the wands and Durmstrang books. James and Harry would at least get some goggles from a Quidditch supply shop. And Lily... would stand guard. For some reason, Lily was the more powerful of the two revived Potters, in terms of both magical and physical strength. That had not been the case before, but it was an aspect of their return that James attributed to whoever had brought them back. Someone, he said, thought Harry needed a mother more than a father. And he would have been insulted, if that mother had been anyone but Lily.

Lily had another perspective, which she hadn't shared with James. She had noticed that James retained more of his original personality than she did. He was... more alive. Or less dead. And combined with his being less powerful, Lily thought he was meant to the be parent. She was meant to be the protector. She hadn't liked that, but if it meant they could be with Harry, and he was safe and happy, she would accept it. And she would be the best protector she could possibly be.

But Lily was so focused on protecting her family, that she wasn't particularly remembering to take care of herself. So when the hooded man appeared in the alley a few feet behind her, she did not realize he was there until she heard him whisper, "Imperio!"

* * *

Harry was trying on his sixth pair of goggles when he noticed that his father had finally stopped commenting on how they looked. He glanced over and immediately realized why. "Dad?" he murmured softly.

James was perfectly still for several tense seconds, before he finally blinked and looked at Harry. "We should wrap things up here, son. Your mother's found something."

"Something like what?" Harry asked. "And how do you know?"

"She told me just now. We have this... bond, I can't explain it. I can tell what she's thinking, sometimes. And she's thinking we should hurry. Found a pair you like yet?"

"Yes," Harry lied, immediately stuffing the last pair of goggles into his pocket. He wasn't about to lose his parents again.

By the time they returned to the alley where they'd left Lily, Sirius had also returned. Lily was waiting patiently in the alley, as she was supposed to... but with a dead body lying at her feet, its neck clearly broken from the severe angle of the head.

Harry immediately ran to his mother, being careful to avoid the fallen body, and hugged her tightly. Lily stroked his hair tenderly.

"What happened, Lils?" Sirius asked.

"This man tried to put the Imperius Curse on me," Lily replied. "I haven't decided if he knew who I was, or that I was dead. I thought it better not to ask, in case he knew my voice. Anyway, the curse didn't work on me." Almost as an afterthought, she added, "So I killed him."

Sirius bent down to examine the body and winced. "I think we may have a problem. Or a couple of them."

"I shouldn't have killed him?" Lily asked. There was no guilt or regret in her tone, only curiosity.

"You will never hear me say that," Sirius said firmly. "You have every right to protect yourself, especially from people like this." He reached down and removed the mask from the man's face. "This man was a Death Eater, and worse, I know this face. His intentions were not good. But we don't know if he was acting on his own, or if he was sent. I suggest we leave now. Can't say this is the way I wanted to start off using this wand, but so be it." He pointed his new wand at the body, which turned into a rock.

"Handy," James commented as he picked up the rock. "How did you think of that?"

Sirius smiled grimly. "Prison is many things, James. If you're willing to keep your ears open, and manage to keep your lunch down, it's a learning experience. If nothing else, I'm a better criminal now than I was when I went in. Now, let's get moving."

"You go ahead with Harry, Sirius," Lily said. "We'll follow."

Sirius looked at her sadly, knowing what it must have cost her to trust Harry to anyone else. "I won't let anyone touch him, Lils."

She nodded. "I know."

Sirius offered his arm to Harry. "Side-Along Apparition isn't hard, Harry. It can be hard on the stomach, though."

Not liking the sound of that, Harry secured his new goggles over his face first.

"Not a bad idea," Sirius commented. Then Harry seized his arm, and they were gone.

"They'll be fine," James said, taking Lily's hands. "There's no one I trust more with our son."

Lily shook her head. "I'm not worried about Sirius. I'm worried about how many others are after one or all of us."

James leaned in and kissed her softly. "Was it hard, breaking that man's neck?"

"No," she murmured against his lips.

He stroked her hair. "Can you do it again?"

She gave him a mildly offended look. "Of course."

"Then _they're_ the ones who should be worried." James smiled, but there was no light in his eyes as he stared at his wife. "Because I would have ripped his head clean off."

Lily's lips twitched. "Don't be silly, James. There wouldn't have been anything clean about it."

James gestured to the ground, and a large hole appeared. He kissed Lily one more time, then dropped into the hole. She followed a few seconds later, and the hole closed up behind her, as if they'd never been there at all.

* * *

"What do you mean, you lost Goyle?!" Lucius Malfoy spat.

"What I said," Crabbe said. "We were supposed to meet at my place. He never showed. He's been late before, but never by this much."

"So maybe the fool got lost."

Crabbe shook his head. "Watch this." He wrote a brief message on a piece of paper, sealed it in an envelope, clearly printed Goyle's name on the envelope, and handed it to the eagle owl sitting on its perch near Lucius's desk.

The eagle owl blinked at Crabbe, and then simply dropped the letter.

"So he's dead," Lucius concluded.

"Most likely. Unless you've got that bird trained so that it only-"

"No." Lucius frowned. "We need to know how he died, and where the body is."

"He mentioned picking up some things in Knockturn Alley."

Lucius scoffed. "We may never find him, then. In that place, someone may have sold his corpse for a Knut by now."

Crabbe hesitated. "Should I...?"

"Yes, yes," Lucius said impatiently, waving him away. "Might as well look. And see if his family knows anything, while you're at it. I'll hold off on reporting this until we have more information."

Crabbe hurried out of the study, and Lucius leaned back in his chair, cursing softly. It wasn't so much that Goyle was valuable, but he was a fellow Death Eater. And a known one. If it was an Auror, that wasn't so surprising, and once they knew the party responsible, Lucius could strike back in a most painful way. But if it had been anyone else, they needed to know who was suddenly feeling heroic, so that person could be dealt with before they started to think that Death Eaters took such insults lying down.

Technically, there was nothing to worry about in the matter of Goyle's death. Yet. But somehow, Lucius couldn't shake the feeling that he should be very, very worried. And the last thing he wanted was to tell Regent that a Death Eater was dead, and he had no idea why or how. He already had more bad news to deliver.

His gaze moved to the recent newspaper clipping, which declared that Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley had tragically perished in a gas explosion that consumed only their house, and left few remains to identify. For a Death Eater, that was actually very good news, since, with no other living relatives, it weakened the blood protection on Harry Potter considerably. The bad news was the message scrawled in black ink across the article, which stated emphatically, "IT WASN'T US. POTTER LIVES."

* * *

Sirius was officially worried about Harry.

At first, he thought maybe Side-Along Apparition had been a little rough on the boy, and that was why Harry had been so quiet since Knockturn Alley. But now, Sirius realized it was more than just that. Certainly, a Death Eater attacking Lily had reminded Harry that he'd lost his parents once, and that it could happen again. At the moment, Harry clearly would have preferred to spend time with his parents, even if it involved nothing more exciting than simply sitting between them. But, at Sirius's insistence, Harry was reluctantly reading the Durmstrang books on necromancy instead.

Although, it was only after James and Lily found Harry reading that they quietly pointed out a troubling fact.

Thanks to the interruption, there hadn't been time for anyone to even attempt to enchant Harry's new goggles. Harry still had them on as he was reading. So either Harry could also read without them, or he had instinctively enchanted the goggles himself. Sirius wasn't sure which possibility would amaze him more, but he hadn't wanted to disturb Harry by pointing it out. He was half-hoping that Harry would realize it himself. It would be harder to deny that way.

After nearly three and a half hours of nonstop reading, Harry put the books aside and slowly walked over to the three of them. "Guys," he said slowly, tears in his eyes, "I think something's wrong with me."

Lily immediately hugged him. "Harry, you're our son. That's all that matters."

"Mum, you don't understand. Sirius was right, but I was right, too."

"About what, Harry?" Sirius asked.

"I was right, when I said I didn't do this. Or didn't know I did it. But, Sirius, you must have been right, too, because..."

"What, son?" James asked.

"Because, these books that Sirius got for me. All the information in them, about necromancy? I-I _know_ it. _All_ of it. It _bored_ me. And the one thing I keep thinking is... it's not advanced enough."

The three adults stared at Harry in silence.

"But I've never read a single book on necromancy before now," Harry insisted. "Where would I even get one? I don't know how I know any of this!"

"I think we can help you there, Harry," said a voice behind him.

Harry whirled around, stunned, as a tall, hooded shape in a black cloak walked out of the darkness. There was no mistaking the voice, or the mismatched eyes. "Bones! Y-You're-!" Harry trailed off at once, realizing he must sound mad to his family, talking to someone who wasn't there. But when he turned to explain himself, Harry got an even bigger shock: his family was all staring at Bones.

They could _see_ him.

He was really there.

And he wasn't alone.

"Harry! Is this your family? They look really nice!"

Harry gaped at the short, white-cloaked figure bouncing excitedly beside Bones. "Sahara?! What are you doing here?!"

She grinned at him. "You're so silly, Harry! Of course I'm here! Bones is part of your magic, and now, so am I! I'm your super special spirit guide into the world of the Astutes, and I'll never leave you alone, I promise!"

Sirius coughed. "James, Lily... do either of you know what's going on here?"

"No," James admitted as Lily shook her head, "but Harry seems to know them, and they look... friendly?"

"I-I don't understand," Harry muttered as he walked up to Bones and Sahara. "Bones, I didn't think you were a real person."

"I'm not a person, Harry," Bones agreed. "I told you, I'm your magic. Sahara is a person, but the one you're seeing now isn't really her. We're both representations of your magic, so we can appear to you. The only reason your family can also see us, is because you've shared your magic with each of them. And you needed them to see us, so they could understand. I'm the reason you know advanced necromancy."

"But why? _How_?" Harry asked desperately.

Bones sighed. "Remember that I told you, you wouldn't like where the rest of me came from? I think it's time you knew. The Dark wizard who murdered the Potters also tried to kill you that night, Harry. But when he did, Lily's sacrifice protected you, the Killing Curse aimed at you rebounded, and hit him instead. A piece of his soul latched onto you. Tainting you, I'm sad to say. It altered your magic. It gave you some of his power and knowledge. That's how we know necromancy. Because he did. Does."

Harry stared at him in horror. "Wait. You say that, like he's not...?"

Bones shook his head. "He's not dead, Harry. Lying low, perhaps, gathering his strength, but he's still out there. And we are going to do everything in our power to protect you."

"Yes!" Sahara agreed eagerly. "Because we're your family, too!"

Harry lowered his head. "I'm sorry, Sahara. I didn't trust you before. But since you're here with Bones, that means-"

She patted his shoulder. "It's okay, Harry. I understand. It's hard to trust. It was hard for me, too. But the man who opened my heart refused to give up until he succeeded, and then he welcomed me into his family. So the least I can do is help you until you're ready to see me as family, too!"

Harry smiled hesitantly. "In that case, I guess I should introduce you both. Come and meet my family. We've got a lot to talk about."

* * *

"I don't think this is working," Zephyrus finally admitted after an hour had passed with no luck.

"Harry isn't talking," Sahara agreed.

"Or he's talking in a place where my winds cannot reach him," Zephyrus countered. "His power is untested. Perhaps I am simply a bad match."

"Maybe you should write to him." This from Newt, who had done his best to be quiet, to allow the pair to concentrate, but clearly wanted to help out.

"That is not a bad idea," Ariana murmured. "We don't know where he is, and we need to make contact. Perhaps simply asking for a meeting would work."

"I don't know," Zephyrus disagreed. "Even Sahara's success with a confrontation was limited at best."

"You're both overthinking this," Sahara said. "I'll just ask Harry if I can come over and play."

"He could still say no to that," Zephyrus reminded her.

"Could he? _You_ never have."

Zephyrus shifted uncomfortably. "Yes. Well. That's not really relevant."

Sahara grinned. "Isn't it? Harry took my card, and let me hug him. He was polite. Even if he doesn't want to hang out, he'd write back and say so. I have faith in him."

"Sahara, you barely even-"

"Don't question the power of our friendship!" Sahara snapped, sticking her finger in his face.

"I doubt a friendly letter could hurt much," Ariana offered. "Go ahead, Sahara. Any response should make it easier to track Harry."

Smirking triumphantly, Sahara whipped out a quill and parchment, and soon scribbled out a brief letter.

 _Harry!_

 _I thought I'd write and see how you're doing. Did you figure out those things that were bothering you? Are you feeling better now? Would you like another hug? I can't wait to see you again! Would you like to get together soon? Just name the time and place!_

 _Hugs and kisses from your friend,_  
 _Sahara_

"All done! Now I just need someone to deliver it." Sahara shoved her hands into her pockets, and came up with two overflowing handfuls of sand. Narrowing her eyes, she allowed the grains to slip through her fingers, watching the sand swirl into a large, lumpy mound. She carefully began to shape it with her hands, until the definite form of a long-necked vulture emerged.

"Broader wings," Newt said abruptly. "And shorter tail feathers."

Sahara blinked. "But the neck's okay?"

"Yes. Here, look." Newt sat down beside her, and for the next several minutes, they debated on various details. Newt's changes seemed to center on actual features the bird might normally possess, but Sahara kept trying to add things she thought would make it happier. The vulture ended up a bit larger overall than it should have been, but Newt kept any further comments to himself and stepped back.

Sahara added the final touch: a grain of red sand that she pressed into the vulture's breast. It came to life at once, proudly stretching its wings to their full length. "You look very nice," she assured it, presenting the letter to the vulture. "Now, remember: you'll stay with Harry until he writes back."

The vulture bobbed its head once, as if agreeing, and seized the letter in its beak.

Sahara smiled and stroked the bird's neck. "Have a safe trip."

The vulture made a muffled response around the letter, then launched itself into the sky.

* * *

 **THEN**

Each new Astute was assigned a room when they first joined the Astute Office, unless there were special circumstances. This room became their home, in that they remained there, and usually received lessons there, until their instructor deemed them safe to interact with others. So in some ways, it might have also seemed like a cell. To avoid that idea, the rooms could be modified magically to suit the occupant's tastes.

The way that process was supposed to work, was that the new Astute requested the changes, and then they were implemented by older Astutes.

No one told Sahara this, or at least, that was the excuse that Ariana provided when Sahara illegally expanded her room to the size of a gymnasium, filled it with sand, and even created a miniature sun that she hung just below the ceiling.

Newt Scamander received an angry letter, chastising him for teaching a child such advanced magic.

He wrote back, calmly, and explained that, from what he had seen, Sahara had been able to create anything out of sand when he first met her, and had likely been doing so long before she met him. And when Newt said anything, he was not exaggerating. Sahara's favorite hobby was making "sand zoos": a seemingly endless collection of miniature, living sand animals. Mostly, she kept them in her room, but it became a common occurrence to find them wandering the corridors as if they owned the place. They were not dangerous, just supremely annoying in that they could instantly reform if destroyed, and went straight to Sahara to report said destruction, which resulted in her giving the guilty party very dirty looks for some time.

Ariana was asked repeatedly to help Sahara observe the rules. But the thing was, if Ariana pushed too much, she would cease being Sahara's friend, and then no one would be able to get Sahara to listen. And it was easier to talk Zephyrus into it, since he was better at droning speeches and rule observation. Sahara liked him despite that, somehow. But then, so did Merrily. Maybe he was just a natural big brother figure.

As became a trend with Sahara's progress, she advanced quickly, but was held back in the interest of her further development. Technically, she was safe to interact with others fairly quickly, but was kept in her room about a month beyond that point, in the hopes that she would behave herself better. It only seemed to make her more eager to get out, however, and filled her to bursting with anxious energy, which meant even more sand animals. By the time she was released, a whole flood of animals rushed out before her. But instead of immediately spreading everywhere, they patiently waited outside the door until Sahara emerged.

"Don't worry, guys," she told them. "I'll tell you everything I saw when I come back tonight."

The flood of animals obediently returned to her room and shut the door behind them.

Ariana never complained about the sand animals, and they had never once purposely bothered her. The only real complaint she had was more of a wish. A week after they'd first met, Sahara had given Ariana a carefully sculpted glass bird. It in no way resembled any bird that could be found in any known desert, so it was unusual enough that Sahara would make it at all. But a great deal of effort had clearly gone into the bird's design, and Ariana kept it on her person at all times. Sahara refused to reveal where the inspiration for the bird had come from, no matter how much Ariana asked, and would only say she wanted Ariana to figure it out for herself. All Ariana knew for certain was that Sahara never gave another glass figurine to anyone else. And that was enough meaning, for her.

* * *

 **Continued in Chapter 8: We Wear the Mask**

People are not who they first appear to be.

* * *

 **Endnotes:**

In theory, a wizarding school like Durmstrang would in some way limit who has access to their textbooks, considering their negative reputation, what they reportedly study, and how irritable Karkaroff was about people learning more about them. If they didn't, there would probably a lot more Death Eaters, and they'd be much more of a threat in a fight against teenagers, what with detailed instructions on advanced magic within easy reach. Assuming, you know, they could read. If it was that easy to get Durmstrang books, Hermione would probably have had a whole set stashed somewhere to use for DA meetings. Or maybe borrowed some old ones from Krum.

You decide if Transfigured Sirius gave Borgin actual Inferi parts, or objects Transfigured to look like them.

Goyle's Imperius would not work on the Potters for two distinct reasons. First, they are largely immune to, or incompatible with, most spells. Second, their wills are extremely focused, so even if Imperius could impact them, they could easily resist it. Technically, whether Goyle was aware Lily was an Inferius or not, his thinking she could be controlled would not be baseless. But if he had known, he would have been better off targeting the wizard responsible for reanimating her.

Sirius should recall several current Death Eaters from their time as Hogwarts students in the past. Normally, the Potters would as well, but their memories aren't exactly perfect.

You probably have an idea who Regent is already, based solely on the fact that Lucius reports to them... but I might surprise you yet, if only a little.

Much of Harry's magic use is subconscious at the moment, which will change with Sahara's help.

Harry trusts Sahara now because her presence with Bones proves that she is linked to his magic.

There is a reason why Zephyrus cannot hear Harry's voice, more on that next time.


End file.
